Chaos in Cassandra ( OPEN )

[bardbarous]

Who: Anyone caught in the violent fallout of an attempted execution
What: Chaos in Cassandra (Player Plot info here)
When: July 28th
Where: Hamlet Crossings, Cassandra

Content Warnings: Attempted public execution, near-suffocation, flaming middle fingers

Chapter I: Out-cooked at the Cookout

For somebody about to get torched in front of a blood-thirsty crowd, Vyng is remarkably calm. You might even think he's got everything under control. After all, each time somebody in the mob tries setting the straw beneath Vyng's feet ablaze? It promptly goes out, as if somebody smothered it with an invisible blanket.

"Knock it off!" Ethan — a zealous Disciple tasked with burning the heretic — hisses. "Accept the punishment being meted out to you with dignity, so that justice may be done."

"You mobber-fuckers call this justice?" Vyng retorts, defiant. "You dog-pile onto this blind, injured guy — uhh, me, just so we're clear — and tie him up? What does this accomplish?"

"Reckoning," Ethan declares. With a wave of his hand, fire crackles beneath Vyng’s feet once more. And Vyng, with the long-suffering sigh of a parent waiting for their tantrum-throwing child to tire himself out, closes his eyes...and the flames snuff out.

“Reckoning!" Ethan insists, louder. The fire roars back to life. Vyng puts it out again. "R-Reckoning!"

This time, when the fire comes back, it's shaped like a human hand. Flipping the crowd a flaming middle finger. Vyng, pleased with his own handy work, throws his head back. And starts laughing.

That's when somebody in the restless crowd gets tired of his shit. "Kill him!" they shout. "Kill the Waste!"

Vyng can control the elements. He can withstand the heat of a volcano. But he is not immune to bludgeoning damage. A boot (a freaking boot!) sails from the crowd, clocking Vyng in the side of the head. Stars explode behind his eyes. Smoke pours into his gills and nose. His lungs begin to burn.

And that's when he realizes...he might actually be kind of fucked this time.

"A boot to the head?" he grouses to himself as unconsciousness begins to claim him. "What a lame way to go." But if the townies want to make him a martyr...then, so be it. He accepts his fate.

He just hopes he’s the only Sleeper who gets targeted.


((OOC: Vyng is currently blind, but he’s watching the proceedings from the eyes of a raven circling overhead. Feel free to have your character get caught up in the mob, become a target themselves, or alert other Sleepers to the blood-thirsty crowd congregating in Cassandra. Tuck will be saving Vyng, but he will need help in Chapters 2 and 3.))

Chapter II: Save the Flammable Damsel

Like a demon bat out of the Outer Dark, there is nothing stopping Tuck now as the front of the crowd finally split open from the force of his fellow Sleeper. His thundering stomps shake the very earth under them all as he makes a beeline for his best friend and the father of his son, tossing aside any dumb Trenchies that think they have any shot of blocking a seven-foot behemoth from his duty.

His giant hands rip apart the ropes binding the half-elf to the pole stabbed into the ground. It likely took several people to beat down, but it only takes one Tuck to pull it up and thrust it out into the sea of Trenchies and Sleepers alike to keep them at bay with one hand. The other holds Vyng like a wilting damsel curled against his chest. Boy would it make a great metal album cover.

"You want him so bad?" Tuck bellows out into the bloodthirsty crowd with his new wooden pike. "Come and get him!"


(( OOC: Tuck and Vyng need a path out of the chaos from Hamlet Crossings to a secure location, or at least a place to lay low until the mob can be dispersed. Your characters have the opportunity to scout out a better location, to lead them and other Sleepers through the mob by force or by cunning, or distract what you can of the crowd! Ultimately in Chapter 3, Tuck and other Sleepers will defend Vyng from inside an abandoned building. ))

Chapter III: Defending the Sanctuary

What's that saying, "Out of the fire and into the abandoned building with no discernable means of escape?" Those Sleepers who bravely led the charge to save Vyng from his fiery fate and cut a path through the outraged mob now find themselves in this exact situation.

Tuck has claimed this abandoned building a sanctuary in spite of the loud naysayers in the crowd pointing out it is, in fact, not. The Pale Sanctuary is on another corner of Cassandra, but that's beside the point! It is their safe haven against the rising riot that threatens to overwhelm them and take back Vyng as a heretic.

Until reinforcements arrive to disperse the mob or they find a way to escape, it's up to the Sleepers to defend themselves. Everything still left in the three storey building is fair game to keep these crazed Trenchies at bay. Ways a Sleeper can interact for the Sanctuary or against it:

• Defend the house (either from inside or outside)
  
  
• Set inventive traps to ensnare or slow down intruders
  
  
• Go vigilante or full-on beast on Trenchies in the mob
  
  
• Or, go vigilante on anyone defending the Sanctuary*
  
  
• Be Evil and spread C H A O S (if that's your bag)
  
  
• Collect and share intel about possible escape routes to the nearest lamp location
  
  
• Crowd-thinning (peaceful or otherwise)

* Note: If your character falls on the Trenchies' side of The Roastening, they will have to contend with either a housecat-sized child (with a serious bodycount) or a 7-foot-tall, 5-foot-wide warrior (with a semi-sentient axe). Alternatively, you will likely make a friend for life if they see you helping even a little bit.

Comments

Vyng Vang Zoomba | Spout Lore | Mostly OTA

[spiritwalks]

I. Bird's Eye View

An ebb and flow of consciousness — dark, then light, then dark. He's floating above Hamlet Crossing. Below, smoke. Shouting. A throng of people, and his own form tied to a stake.

Vyng's mind drifts between himself and a raven perched overhead.

There isn't much he can do. He loathes controlling other creatures if it can be helped, and his grasp of the present is dreamlike at best. So he fuzzily observes, for as long as he can.

---

II. Closed to Tuck

"Come and get him!" Distant. Fuzzy, like he's submerged underwater.

Unbeknownst to an unconscious Vyng, the mob zeroes in on the most obvious target: The screaming 7-foot man who just snatched their scapegoat. A sea of bodies and torches converge on the scaffold, seething with murderous intent as they clamor for blood.

---

III. House Hijinks

A. Recovery

Vyng's body is concealed by a haphazardly tossed-together fort: Stacks of crates and dusty furniture piled on top of each other.

Faintly, he hears someone else's voice.

"Who...?" Vyng rasps. His throat still burns from soot and smoke.

B. Reconnaissance

He thought he was fine. But clearly, he didn't think this one through. Amidst all the chaos, Vyng blindly reaches around for the nearest creature — anyone or anything. He's not picky.

"Quick! I need to borrow your eyes."

C. Reassesment

Turns out, it's hard to maintain a steady spiritual connection when 1) the living embodiment of this world's Spirit Realm is pissed off, and 2) you're constantly acting under pressure, where the odds of failure and complications go up with each act.

Vyng stays out of sight, back pressed against the wall as he regains his bearings...again. Hot air caresses his face — clearly, from a nearby window. That probably should have been his clue to move away. But he doesn't.

"This is crazy," he mutters to himself. "Maybe I should hand myself over."

D. Redirection

He's flying over the crowd. Gripping the back of a massive flaming bird some people may recognize as Vyng's spirit animal Cloudpiercer. As for the fire wielded by the mob? It's being siphoned into the bird, as the creature grows in strength.

"Torch this, ya' zealots!" he shouts at the top of his lungs as Cloudpiercer passes overhead.

Vyng can't see through his eyes, true. But he doesn't need to. He and Cloudpiercer are united in spirit and purpose. Their mission? To draw some of the crowd away from the house, lure them as far as possible, and leave them in the dust once he circles back around to his friends. If they're lucky, he can do it unscathed.

But he'll need help from down below. Illusions for distraction, trapping Trenchies, or maybe manipulating some of the fire for their own purposes — the Druid will take whatever he can get and run with it.

(Vyng never said he had good ideas.)

---

IV. Wildcard

((Got other ideas? Feel free to hit me up at my plotting post, jackets, or Jansen#8997.))

Reassessment

[onerthes]

Vira-Lorr was one of the latest to the group. She only knew something was going on in Cassandra because of Luz, so she'd had to take time to get here. Breaking in and joining folks had required the feathered shrug she'd had since the Mayor and his blasted dome, since she could stay stealthy and incredibly silent with it. But, now that she was here, she wasn't about to let him just hand himself over.

A hand reached out as someone kept a cloth to her their face and crouched low. Pulling the shrug back, her voice was low, pitched to keep things quiet. "It won't help anything. You didn't do anything... It won't stop them or appease them. I don't know what's wrong, but that's not the answer."

[spiritwalks]

The light touch jolts Vyng out of his melancholy thoughts. With a sharp intake of breath, he turns toward the source and hears a voice—

"Vira...?" He lets out a sigh, equal parts relieved and surprised by her presence. "You got in here? That's amazing."

[onerthes]

"The others are fighting. And I have a trick," she said. She gestured to the feathered shrug that she had on her shoulders. It was ofset, but when she put it back in place, she held a hand up, snapping her fingers.

Nothing. Not a sound.

She unslung one side and smirked. "One of Roderic's only good gifts. I brought it with me from the dream. You ... look like hell." Because sometimes, you just had to say the obvious.

[spiritwalks]

"Wow..." he says, genuinely impressed.

Of course, Vyng's eyes don't register the position of Vira-Lorr's hands, or her silent snap. Instead, they're fixed at a point just past her head. But he's no stranger to blocking sound through spiritual means. A Dream gift that can achieve similar results is incredible, indeed!

"I feel like hell," Vyng admits. Warmbloods are as tough as any Sleeper, but this month has done a number on his body. "And these assholes..." He jerks a thumb toward the commotion. "—are being so annoying right now. At least handing myself over might spare us from this freaking headache, you know?"

[onerthes]

"Mmmm, I'd thank him, but he isn't himself these days," she admitted. Roderic was a sad state compared to his former 'glory.' Still, he seemed happy enough, in the end. She looked over Vyng sympathetically, shaking her head as he talked.

"As simple as that seems, and I... I appreciate your thought? It sets a precedent. It isn't like in the nightmare. Those people are still going to be mad tomorrow. If we don't put a stop to this, it might continue and get worse. I'm not going to let them have you. They need to direct their anger properly." You know, at the Emperor damnit!

Yeah, that'd go hilariously.

[spiritwalks]

"You're right." Vyng's words are even and measured. "It will get worse if we don't stop it."

He's not entirely convinced sitting holed up in a house is the way, though.

"I mean...what's a little barbecued spacegoat in the long run, eh?" The macabre suggestion contrasts with Vyng's lopsided grin — as if he hadn't just made a stupid pun about the townies burning him alive. "Maybe it'll tide them over until...you know, the Reckoning's influence wanes."

[onerthes]

She settled in a little closer, sighing and giving him a level look. "I don't entirely know how much of this is the Reckoning, and how much of this is because of what's happened recently. After all, for all its flaws, the Reckoning is about reprisal for something you've actually done, and you did nothing to hurt these people." Her gaze narrowed and she was reaching for a small pouch with salves and ointments. It wasn't going to be as good as magical healing, but hopefully it would help some if he'd take it.

"I have suspicions what this might be about. They were railing about something, and if it's what I think it is? It has nothing to do with you. If anything, if further harm came to you, the Reckoning might come after them." The Emperor was damned lucky the Reckoning didn't find them first.

[spiritwalks]

"I interfaced with Mariana during a ritual," Vyng softly explains. His eyes still linger in Vira-Lorr's general direction, though they fail to make contact with hers. "From a devout Disciple's perspective, it's no different from whatever shit what's-his-face pulled. I mean, I get it. They blame the storm on Sleepers' hubris, and I'm a convenient target right now."

Nothing personal, in other words. Vyng doesn't regret what he did. But he wouldn't regret handing himself over, either. Especially if it spared other people — including his family — from getting hurt.

Of course, he hadn't thought about how the Reckoning might perceive the mob.

"What do you think we should do instead?"

[bardbarous]

When you challenge an entire mob, they are going to take you up on the offer. And Tuck hasn't thought that far ahead. But as a few instigators begin stepping up on the platform, Tuck's cold focus narrows in on the most direct threat and will worry about the rest as it comes.

With one arm, he holds the large wooden pike out and swings it through—through the Trenchies in one motion. Each one crumples like a crushed solo cup in a frat boy's hand. It makes the rest of the crowd hesitate, enough so that Tuck has enough space to jump down from the platform.

"Anyone else?!" he roars out, watching the line around him waver and step back instinctively.

[spiritwalks]

Some of the Disciples aren't so easily cowed. Their zealotry eclipses any self-preservation. A throwing knife sails from the bunched-up crowd — aimed right at Tuck's chest.

[bardbarous]

Thunk! The handle sticks out of his chest at a slight angle. He hardly feels it until he looks down when a few Trenchies gasp and a few shout with cheer. They aren't cheering now when he pulls it out, blood gushing out in time with his heart beat.

"Oo, nice throw—Hey, you want it back?" he asks the crowd, but no one pipes up, so he shouts louder. "YOU WANT IT BACK?!" This time, though, someone throws another knife that sails past his arm. Then a rock ricochets off his stomach and almost hits Vyng.

"Okay, real funny, guys! You can hit me, not Vyng—" Another smacks him on the head, and then the crowd swells with renewed confidence to surge forward with weapons and projectiles. "Oh, real mature, dicks!"

He goes back on the offense before the mob can, swinging his pike in an arc to beat back their zealous attackers.

[spiritwalks]

A small group topples to the ground like music bottles getting knocked off a shelf.

"It was him!" A robed figure narrowly misses the pike, but they're quick to pin the blame elsewhere: A scrawny, freckle-faced teenager who's clutching a pitiful pile of rocks. "It was him."

"Dude!" the teen hisses, eyes nervously moving between Tuck and his betrayer. "What the hell!"

[bardbarous]

"So, do you want it back or not?!" Tuck bellows to the kid everyone is now throwing under the wagon.

"No!" the boy squeals, trying in vain to disappear into the members of the crowd behind him. Unfortunately, no one's giving him room.

"Okay! I'll save it for my son..." It comes out impatient, especially now that he has nowhere to keep it until he finds Billie again. No way is he hiding it in his loincloth! So, logically, he puts it back where it came from— the big open wound in his pec. Hey, at least it stops the bleeding again!

"Oh. And by the way—" He points the pike out among the crowd, the end of the pole directly in the robed figure that called the kid out in the first place. "Snitches. Get stitches."

And masterfully, Tuck cracks the narc upside his head. He falls to the ground like a broken marionette doll, and Tuck charges into the crowd with a mighty scream.

[spiritwalks]

"Holy shit!" is the last thing anyone says before Tuck barrels through the sea of bodies. Hands claw at Vyng, but Tuck's sheer height impedes them just enough that he keeps slipping from their grasp.

For now, the two of them have got the element of surprise and intimidation on their side. But once Tuck puts enough distance between him and other Disciples, their thirst for punishment will push the mob to converge after them like a pack of wolves.

They'll either need a path to the nearest lamp — wherever the hell that is — or somewhere to shelter.

[bardbarous]

There's a lot of nut shots coming from Tuck. He's got to take the men down swiftly and efficiently, and there's no better way than a sound hit to the sac.

"Goat kick!" he announces the slam of his foot into one of the zealots whose hands have gotten dangerously close to Vyng. Every attack Tuck gives it a name, like his best friend might.

"Fuckin'... crow peck!" Tuck calls out right before poking another person in the eyes.

The mob might be thinning as Tuck barrels through them, but plenty have not been permanently taken out of the running. They get up and gather in mass behind them, crying out for Vyng's blood.

"Give us back the heretic! He must be destroyed!"

"Kill him!"

"You're not killing him! No one's killing him!" Tuck screams in a rage that's been building up since he pulled Vyng out of death's gaping maw. The hate these people have for one flighty half-elf is truly despicable and pitiful—would be pitiful if they weren't all actively trying to burn him alive! Maybe he'll pity them later, but right now he is too busy keeping the swarming bastards off of him to find any scrap of sympathy. He can only think of survival.

[spiritwalks]

Suddenly, a horse and cart go careening across Tuck's path — behind him, that is. A cacophony of surprised shouts pierce the air. People scatter. And it buys them just a little more time.

A quick glance around will reveal the source: A pair of dweeby Disciples in robes frantically waving Tuck over.

"Hey! This way! C'mon!"

Audio; Closed to Obi-Wan

[spiritwalks]

[In the wake of Michael's transformation, Vyng doesn't waste time. Hunkered behind some crates, he asks his Omen to contact Obi-Wan. The commotion threatens to drown his voice, so he beckons the creature closer before speaking with an assertive, evenhanded clarity.]

I need your help with something. It's important.

[Gentler:]

Please.

[jedies]

[ there's no hesitation. ]

Of course. Whatever you need.

[spiritwalks]

My friend Michael, he's...

[Vyng lets out a quiet breath, grounding himself.]

He's lost himself to Beasthood. The locals are in danger now — and so is he.

[jedies]

[ obi-wan lets out a quiet breath. ]

What do you need me to do?

[spiritwalks]

What do you know about handling Beasthood?

[jedies]

Besides the literature? Not much.

[spiritwalks]

[Vyng's own personal interest in the subject veers less toward curing it. He'd much rather learn about cultivating the tools needed to live with it. But Michael doesn't have that luxury, and Vyng's trying to think of something. Anything.]

Didn't ones of the Pthumerians give out something to help with beasthood? One of the patron ones, I mean.

[jedies]

Not mine. Some blood types help to calm possession at least.