deercountry | All men must die, but first he must live.

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All men must die, but first he must live.

SEPTEMBER 2021 EVENT

IMAGE DESCRIPTORS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Prompt One
[Image One: Woman holding skull in bag. ]
[Image Two: Plants sprouting out of earth.]

Prompt Two
[Image One: Woman rocking back and forth in dark.]
[Image Two: Woman rowing down river with corpses on stakes on horizon.]

Prompt Three
[Image One: Beef cake man breaking arrows off of shield with a sword.]
[Image Two: Beefy man slamming axe into troll-like creature, spraying blood.]

[NAVIGATION]

Prompt 1 • Prompt 2 • Prompt 3 • Plotting • Newsletter

[JUMP TO COMMENTS]

GROWING PAINS

WHEN: September
WHERE: Everywhere
CONTENT WARNINGS: Minor blood ritual.

September, for many in Trench, is considered a month of personal sacrifice. It is the month of self-actualization and promise. To grow your future, you must first be willing to sacrifice your past. You cannot walk forwards while walking backward. All throughout Trench, natives can be seen in yards and on plots of land digging small holes and planting a variety of items. Some plant seeds, some drop in a ring, others bury small parts of a body. But the ritual is simple: bury something that represents your past and seal it with a promise for your future.

You can write yourself a note or cut off a lock of your own hair. The ways in which people do this are limitless since it's a largely personal experience. Find a small patch of soil and dig yourself a shallow hole. Bury the item inside, say goodbye to who you used to be, and cover the item up with dirt. Once you are done, you must shed at least one drop of blood onto the sacrifice. It must be your own blood willingly given. Once the blood hits the soil, a small flower will miraculously grow out of the earth within seconds.

A single, powerless flower, but this flower will be completely immortal. You can either keep it on the patch of land or dig it up and bring it home. The flower will be a representation of your progress in Trench: if its petals wilt, you are lingering too much in the past. If it is in full bloom and vibrant, you're on the right path to a better future. If the flower starts to rot, you're heading down a dangerous path.

The flower may not be able to sway you one way or another, but it may serve as a valuable reminder of the kind of life you wish to lead. Some people abandon the flowers entirely and never bother with them. After all, there are no real consequences if you let the flower rot. If a character is dropped, their flower will fleck away like dust. Many believe that the flowers are made of the same stuff omens are made of.

You can dig up other people's flowers and watch their progress (make sure to get player permission) instead. After all, not everyone will care enough about their own flowers to really observe them closely. The flowers can come in any species or size, even fictional flowers, but they will only be replicas. Meaning if your character's flower is typically used for healing, there will be no healing properties in this replica. The flowers cannot be destroyed.

Many natives in Trench will repeat this ritual a few times every couple of years since the ritual is for letting go of the past. After all, the promises you make to yourself now won't be the same promises you make to yourself ten years from now. People change and so too will their flowers. What the characters bury is largely open to interpretation.

RIVER OF REGRET

WHEN: September
WHERE: Some obscure location within Gaze
CONTENT WARNINGS: Mangled corpses of loved ones, birds eating corpses, themes of regret.

You will find raven feathers all over Trench. They may drift through the air, lightly touch you, or you might decide to pick one up. The moment you come into physical contact with a feather, a conspiracy of ravens tears through the air and scoops you up into a whirlwind of feathers and caws. It only lasts a few seconds before you're deposited into a canoe drifting along a still river. Another Sleeper is in the boat with you. You pass beneath massive stone walls carved into the likeness of Never Mind and his ravens.

The world is silent around you. There is no rain here. Instead, sunlight pours through breaks in the clouds. Sunlight dapples across the water and golden-red leaves of nearby trees. It's more serene than most places in Trench.

You turn a corner and smell it before you see it. The picturesque summer day is dampened by the stench of rot. Then you come upon them: corpses. Corpses tied up to posts with barbed wire, corpses put through spikes and suspended in the air. Ravens flutter to and fro, picking at strips of meat. It isn't until you're close enough that you realize you recognize the corpses.

They are the corpses of people you have hurt. And that doesn't just mean people you killed or physically harmed. These are the bodies of people you have deep regrets towards: a lover you wronged, a best friend you lied to, an enemy you wish you had forgiven. Not everything is as black and white as murder, after all, and this grisly graveyard of mangled bodies says as much. Sometimes our regrets haunt us like the dead, and it seems like yours have followed you to Trench. You might even see your own body up on a post or the body of your canoe companions.

You have one of two choices: ignore your regret or face it.
Choosing to ignore your regrets doesn't seem to have any ill consequences at first. You pass by the corpses and continue on your river voyage. But the water grows thicker, and you come across the same corpses only in a worse state. The situation gets progressively worse each time you ignore it, and the river gradually becomes a river of blood and gore. The stench becomes insufferable and you will become increasingly corrupt. Some may even turn into beasts right there on the river.

Facing your regrets means talking about them, even mildly, to your canoe companions. You simply need to acknowledge the corpses, acknowledge the slightest truth to your feelings towards those regrets. When everyone in your canoe has acknowledged their regrets, the ravens will come for you once more. You will be brought back to Trench and awaken in the School of Mutter. Those who faced their regrets will discover that they have been gifted a white gold compass. The compass's needle will always point in the direction of the nearest Lamp Friend no matter the chaos going on in the world. But the compass only works once you have calmed down and focused.

QUICK FACTS

1. Each boat can hold up to 4 people. There can be multiple canoes in the same area.

2. If you try to leave the boat, you will drown in the River of Regret.

3. This does not have to encompass every regret someone's had. It can only represent one or two things. The regret should have to do with another individual or one's self. Something like "I regret not going to college" wouldn't necessarily work within the parameters of the prompt.

4. The river can only be accessed by touching a fallen raven feather. Touching a raven feather attached to the bird or a quill does not count.

5. Characters can engage with this prompt as many times as they touch a raven feather.

6. Characters with no regrets will not see corpses, but they will still be able to interact with characters who do have regrets.

BLOODSPORT

WHEN: During the Blood Moon
WHERE: Everywhere but specifically, The Gate
CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence, fighting, forced aggression/violence, forced fighting.

The Blood Moon invokes religious reverence among Trenchies. September and October are the ultimate months of sacrifice to pay tribute to the gods and the blood that rules this world. An energy begins to swell among Trenchies and you keep hearing the same word whispered excitedly around the city: "Bloodsport."

As the Blood Moon floods the streets in red, you begin to feel antsy, like you don't know what to do with yourself. You're not necessarily angry, you just have an abundance of energy. You don't need to be told what it is: your blood is reacting to the moon. The Blood Moon enhances blood powers significantly and you're simply not used to that yet. You don't feel in control of your own power or maybe even your own mind. At least until you exert some power, some force. Slam a door shut or swing a sword, shoot some electricity or spit some poison and you'll feel at peace with yourself. That nervous energy will ease out.

Only to come back twice as strong. It starts to put you in a real fighting mood and you start to realize why the locals call this Bloodsport. Hunting down beasts and monsters might seem like the fun thing to do right now, but the real attraction for Bloodsport takes place at The Gate. You can hear the roaring crowd blocks away. Hundreds of Trenchies have settled in to watch Sleepers duke it out with each other or with locked-up monsters. Maybe join in the fight. At least you know the other Sleepers there want to be there...Right?

Unfortunately not. Those who resist Bloodsport will find themselves passing out more and more frequently. Eventually, they will be taken by Mysterious Forces to The Gate to be pitted against other Sleepers and monsters. Some Sleepers will be forced into a gladiator-style fight that they either must win or die trying. Most fights at the Gate do end in death, but there are some circumstances where someone surrenders. Of course, that never stops their opponent from killing them anyway...Hopefully, you're fighting someone who is still relatively reasonable. Both parties can be resistant to fighting, but they will feel obligated to fight each other. If they don't, monsters will be unleashed into the arena and your situation will get a whole lot worse.

Bloodsport can greatly enhance a Sleeper's ability and many believe it is a gift from the Pthumerian gods. It is generally considered an advantage to Sleepers during the Season of Blood to prepare them and train them to hone their skills for the Season of Bone. Many believe it is wisest to submit to Bloodsport and let yourself get used to the motions of violence in order to survive the remainder of the year.

QUICK FACTS

1. Casual physical training will alleviate Bloodsport feelings. You could get through the month just by jogging around a lot.

2. Characters forced to the Gate will not remember how or when they arrived - they will just wake up and be thrown into the Gate by some shadowy force.

3. Characters who willingly participate in violence/fighting will feel temporary relief from Bloodsport only for the feeling to increase.

4. Effects of Bloodsport last as long as the Blood Moon shines through September and October.

5. You can treat symptoms of Bloodsport with calming techniques such as aromatherapy, meditation, medications, etc. Can be based on what would ICly help calm your character but it should require a lot of it.

6. You can invent the monsters/beasts that are at the Gate. They should be killable creatures and easily captured for the purpose of the Gate.

CODING

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( Oh god, don't leave it to him — please, someone, tell him what to do. Peter grimaces, a sharp wince expression. He doesn't know the answer to anything. ....Though perhaps if he'd calm a little, he would be able to feel what's right. Unfortunately, calming down, even a little, is not Peter Graham's forte.

—Though Lysithea's added words help, immediately. Oh. Oh, so maybe... a small piece would be okay...? Luna had only given a simple snippet of her own hair, and that was enough back then. So Peter's taking a deep breath, reaching up to uncurl a wavy lock from his head, drawing it out a bit. He hesitates, nervous, watching what Lysithea pulls out. Staring for a long moment; he does recognise the clothing. )

Your clothes from.... before. You're a little older now, aren't you? ( He finally asks, and the notion isn't as bizarre as it ordinarily would be. He knows people have come and gone from Deerington, sometimes changed. And this place is... some kind of continuation, isn't it? The reality they live in is strange. )

A few years.

[She confirms with a nod. It's a bit odd - she's had something of an inferiority complex her whole life, stemming from perpetually being the youngest in any organization and being judged accordingly. To return now to find that she is older than many of her friends and acquaintances here...

It's a paradigm shift.]

These are my school clothes, yes. It seems... an immeasurable length of time ago now.

[Before the war and before Deerington. Here in Trench, at least the Deerington memories resurfaced quickly, summoned by familiar sights and faces and experiences. Lysithea watches as Peter measures out his length of hair, giving an almost imperceptible nod as he stops.

She hands him an object: Peter will not recognize it, but Paimon may remember the dagger she had used to spill her own blood, once upon a time. A ritual dagger.]

That must be really... strange to get used to. Really hard? ( Peter remarks quietly, with an empathy laced in the tone. Acclimating to this new setting is strange enough, with the... internal changes, much less with any added factors tacked on. Of course, Lysithea's always seemed... almost disconcertingly calm about various horrors — but Peter remembers that he's worried about her all the same. An awareness that slowly seeps in as the boy continues to gradually remember the little variety of strange circumstances in which he'd found himself with her.

Wait...... She'd told him about it. How she would... die someday. From something horrible within her. The memory comes to him oddly and makes him unsettled, as Peter looks over at what the girl is offering to him. Does this mean she's closer to that death? Or... will this place protect her from it?

His hand hesitates, but only for a second or two. The demon within him does indeed recognise the item, and a solemn hush falls over Peter as a result; Paimon's ancient spirit drapes over him like a ghost, and it calms the boy, somehow. His eyes are a little strange as he accepts the dagger, a little foggy and half-lidded. The demon feels the importance to the dagger, and so does Peter; for a moment, they're not only conjoined, but the same.

The lock of hair is cut quickly, tumbling into the hole. Peter watches it go, still half-lidded, but this isn't done. There's still...the blood. What this dagger is really for. And once again, it's Paimon's memory of the ritual he'd taken part in with the young mage — that memory bleeds into Peter, becomes his memory now. )

Just one drop, ( he, or maybe Paimon, murmurs, and the boy presses it to his palm the way Lysithea had back then, a direct imitation. Calm and steady and controlled enough to elicit only a single droplet. It falls into the hole with the hair, and only then does the strange haze falters; Peter gives a soft whimper, and with a shaking hand, offers the dagger back to her. )

It's complicated.

[Lysithea affirms with a faint smile.]

I always felt as if I would come back to this place some day. When I was finished with my business. But over the years, it began to fade into dreams and memories. I'm still not entirely sure if I'm awake.

I do not envy the Lysithea who remains in Fodlan, though.

[She cannot hear his thoughts - but this is perhaps a quiet confirmation of what he fears. In addition to finishing out the war, that Lysithea... has only a precious few years left to her.

The hair is cut, and Lysithea watches as it falls into the hole he had uncovered with unerring accuracy - as with many things ritualistic, once the initial steps had been complete, it was almost as if they carried themselves to a natural conclusion. And the dagger piercing his palm...

That was something she had not used since she had last been in Deerington. It seemed somehow wrong. She offers no further advice or encouragement as Peter squeezes out a single drop of blood - and having completed this ritual herself not too long ago, she expectantly awaits the blossoming flower.

As the dagger is returned, the first sprout is already beginning to push out of the earth.]

...It is done.

How do you feel?

( Still not entirely sure if she's awake... That's something Peter understands, very well. And the boy frowns softly at her words, the implication of them. That's right, there are... technically other versions of themselves, the ones left behind. They'll keep living their lives. )

I guess the Peter back home... I don't envy him, either.

( The frown almost tips towards a little smile — not happy by any means, more sad than anything, but it's some gesture of solidarity, maybe. They... both were going to lose themselves; that's where their fates would fall, right? She was going to die, and maybe he was too — or end up fully taken by the demon, hollowed out by it. Either way, there would be no more Peter.

But he and Lysithea are here, now. Escaping fate. He still can't help wondering sometimes if his own will come to call on him regardless. Maybe this— taking part in something like this— will push him just a little bit closer to it. But it's done now. And as the odd haze of him clears, Peter realises there was something strange to his blood, the... shape, feel of it. He's staring into the hole where it shimmers — glittering, ethereal. ....Had it.... looked like that when he'd spilled the drop? Had it even bled at all, or... fluttered from him like fairydust more than liquid?

He's not afraid of it, though. He finds that he just sort of... accepts it, like something he already maybe knew deep down. Wide-eyed, he's watching what's sprouting from the earth, unsure of the particular emotion that's sprouting in him, parallel to the daisy that will unfurl. )

I— ( Peter swallows, slightly overwhelmed by all of it. When did his eyes turn wet? Like he's leaking a little. ) I'm not sure. I don't feel— bad. Just... a little strange, maybe.

( But he's also transfixed by what's blossoming, not having expected something to appear so suddenly. It's...a flower? Is that what it is? He tilts his head slightly, discomfortingly aware that the demon is still breathing with him, just as transfixed. )

Did this happen for you, too? Something... grew? Was it safe?

[Lysithea looks down at the simple daisy unfurling before their eyes and glances at him quickly with an odd, knowing expression - almost conspiratorial.]

We have the same blood.

[Somehow, that makes sense. As much as she thought she was making a conscious choice to assist, there was some unseen connection here that inevitably drew her to this boy and his predicament. They were... too similar. Bound by the same chains. Perhaps this outcome was unavoidable.

But her expression shifts in the blink of an eye. He does not wish to discuss blood, she feels quite sure of that.]

I had a lily.

I unearthed it and brought it home. I'm trying to nurture it. I think it would be wise for you to take this with you, too.

( It makes sense to Peter, too, somehow. It just... seems right, even if it should seem so completely bizarre. His blood doesn't look or feel like his blood anymore, and Lysithea has the same, too. But it's some odd comfort that theirs are the same; it makes it all a little less scary, but there's maybe something deeper than that, too.

His strange connection with the young woman spans layers and perhaps it isn't only the demon within him tying him to her, now.

Peter's staring widely at the thing that appears in exchange for giving up pieces of himself. It's.... familiar. A white daisy in particular means something very precious to him, and through the overwhelmed sensation, he's... awed that somehow this place, its gods or whatever is at work here, would grant him such a thing. )

I've seen one like this before. It belonged to someone important. ( He swallows, hands carefully moving forwards, fingers gently starting to dig around its sides. Right away he listens to what Lysithea says; he'll take it with him. He can't imagine leaving it. And it's so small that it's easy to uproot, Peter carefully scooping it into his palms closer, so she can see too. His heart's pattering like a butterfly. )

I thought something bad might happen, but this... this isn't bad at all.

No.

[She agrees, a smile flickering quickly across her face.]

No, it's not bad, is it? I felt it was something important I needed to do - for my own sake. I hope you feel some measure of that same relief.

[She wasn't escaping from the past so much, more that she needed to be... unburdened from it. She would be eternally defined by what had been done to her in her childhood - but her rebirth in Trench had purged the tainted blood from her body and this ritual now, perhaps, could at last begin to cleanse its influence from her mind.

As his outstretched hands cup the flower gently, Lysithea nods solemnly.]

I'm glad it holds meaning for you.

[She won't push for details if he doesn't wish to give them.]

( Maybe the other shoe will drop soon enough — the flower becoming something scary and strange, but... Peter doesn't think it will. He made a sacrifice, and he.... earned this. He received something nice, because his sacrifice was worthy enough.

What a strange thought. To be on this side of it.... Any outright lingering fear in him is surely trickling away, the wet at the corners of his eyes no longer really an aching feeling. )

I think I know what you mean. It feels like... I was supposed to. ( He's not quite sure how to define what he'd given up. Maybe the self that existed before this — some quiet acceptance that he's not quite the same. The thing he'd been fearing, what he'd expressed concerns about. It will take some thought to really understand, and maybe later he'll mourn in a more concrete way, but for now he's.... okay. This is okay. And he doesn't mind at all opening up to her about it — telling her. It feels natural to do that, too. Like he should think about why it means what it does. A reminder. )

It was because I made someone... really happy. She has magic, and flowers bloomed in her hair because she was happy. Because of me. ( The tips of his ears flush a little, and he smiles quietly. )

And she gave me one of them after. A daisy, just like this. ( He pauses, gently shaking loose dirt from the flower's roots. )

What does your look like? Your lily.

It's a black lily.

[Lysithea's hands make a subconscious motion, and it's almost like she's cupping the flower in her palms.]

Lilies were always my favorite. They didn't grow very commonly in the area I grew up, but I remember once seeing a great field of wild lilies in a valley. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

When I was in school, someone used to gift me lilies they'd grown in the greenhouse sometimes. It was... a highlight.

[Peter is clearly riding on a high right now. She will not feel the need to mention that her own flower is wilting, that despite having gone through this ritual, despite feeling the burden being lifted, she is still visited by the same struggles, still occasionally haunted by the feelings of the past.

It is a process. Day by day. No one can expect something so complex to be relieved from the mind so quickly.]

Your story is better, though. That flower represents your happiness. But it's not the happiness of the past; it's the happiness of the future - you're talking about somebody you met who's with you here, aren't you?

( Peter listens quietly to her words, his mind conjuring up images to go along with them — a field of lilies, swaying gently in a breeze, maybe. He's never seen them in the wild, or really much at all otherwise; his family weren't one for flowers. Not out in the cold dark woods where they lived, everything so hidden and hushed.

But he can imagine what it would be like, that valley of wild lilies. Peaceful, quiet.

He really likes the thought of it, offering a little smile over to Lysithea. It's nice to hear what they mean to her, the associations she has with them: to get that glimpse into someone else. This place knew to gift her a lily, too. More and more he's becoming attached to the concept of these flowers, thinking they're a particular source of.. comfort. If they represent times, moments, that meant a great deal to someone. )

No, that's— it's really nice. Having memories associated with something specific like that, with lilies. I used to... stay away from anything that reminded me of home. For the longest time I wouldn't even touch my guitar when it showed up in Deerington, because it made me remember... the way my room smelled, and how my bed felt, and I didn't want to remember those things. But now I think... maybe I'm glad I have some things like that. So I don't forget... everything.

( The boy gently brushes his fingertip against the daisy's petals, thinking. The happiness of the future....? She's right, he realises with a quiet warmth. This flower doesn't make him think of the past at all, but of the future. It's not something Peter ever thought he'd be allowed to think of, for long. He nods softly, looks back down for a moment. )

When the Door showed up back in Deerington, I... chose to go through it, with her. I still don't know if I was supposed to or not, but... maybe the fact this place gave me this flower.... maybe that means it's okay that I'm here.

It is.

[Lysithea quietly affirms, letting her hands drop to her side.]

I had that thought, too. Isn't it selfish to leave behind people - circumstances, situations that would depend on me? Isn't it selfish to -- want to live when that wasn't my destiny?

[Her brow furrows, and it's unclear what exactly her expression conveys. Regret? Frustration? Consternation, perhaps.]

I don't know what you had waiting for you back home, but if there's happiness in front of you, you must reach forth and grasp it. Nobody else will do it for you. So we are here. Where you have your daisy and I...

[I have a future.

From her bag, she pulls out a little container that seems to hold nuts of some sort; she pours them out into the soil and tamps them down with her foot. The container is offered to the boy.]

For your flower.

...I have to go now, but I'm glad to see you again, Peter. I hope we can help each other navigate what's ahead of us.

( It's been a thought there in him for a long time. The decision to sacrifice his egg and then later to go through the Door took no deliberation; Peter knew right away it was what he'd choose to do. Going back home... he couldn't do that. Wouldn't.

Was it cowardly of him? Wrong? If there's some destiny he's meant to fulfill, some... purpose, choosing to come here might not even have stopped it. The demon may serve as some literal reminder of that; the shadow still seems to loom in over him. He can still feel it, pressing inwards, gently. There's something he's supposed to become. He doesn't know if he can ever really escape it.

...But what he does know is that here, there is happiness. Here, there's— people he loves, and they love him back, too.

Peter takes the container, and smiles at Lysithea again. It's easier now: soft, and warm. )

I'm glad you decided to come here. Glad you're— here. I missed you.

( The horror of her particular circumstance.... he's glad she's freed from that much of it. Allowed to live. Maybe it's selfish of him too, but he's glad the both of them are here together now.

The daisy is then gently tipped into the space, along with a little bit of the soil it grew out from. Peter's very much aware he couldn't have done this, any of it, without her helping him. But of course, it isn't the first time she's held his hand through some difficult loneliness, guided him through. Maybe he can help her, too. )

I'd like that very much. Thank you, Lysithea.

We do seem to meet at certain crossroads. Call it fate.

[Lysithea smiles, her words a bit more cryptic than she had meant them to be - but surely there is some reason they are perpetually drawn together under these odd circumstances.]

I'm glad I could be here for this.

Goodbye, then. Water your flower.

[With a brisk nod, Lysithea steps away and back into the quiet streets of Trench, disappearing around a corner soon afterwards.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

All men must die, but first he must live.

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slightly weird continuity blip; I'm absolutely stupid and,,,, forgot about the new blood thing 🙃

no worries! i do this constantly

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