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wilderlogs2018-04-27 01:28 am
wildermods) wrote in wilderlogs2018-04-27 01:28 am
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THE SQUAD'S SPA RETREAT ON WEATHERTOP [log post] [free-for-all] [modplot]
THE SQUAD'S SPA RETREAT ON WEATHERTOP
The hills the squad travel through make an undulating ridge, often rising almost to a thousand feet, and here and there there are low clefts or passes leading into the land beyond. In the low-lying areas there are the ruins of walls and other buildings, and on some of the hills lie the ruins of different forts and watchtowers.
The highest hill in the area is Weathertop and this is where the squad will make camp on the fifth night of travel. This hill will provide them refuge but no refuge can truly keep them safe. As the crows said, they are the ones that were Chosen by the Green and the darker forces of this world have already found out about their existence.
However, the night starts normally. They make camp and set up watch and the hours pass without much reason for worry. A waxing moon rises into the sky, casting a gentle glow on the world. There is a light chill but nothing insurmountable due to their campfires. All is calm and peaceful.
That's why what happens next probably seems strange at first. Even those who aren't on watch may find themselves suddenly jerking out of sleep due to strange feelings of dread seemingly coming from nowhere. Those with holy magics, blessed weapons, or banked holy spells will find themselves feeling some kind of evil approaching. Those with cursed weapons or unholy powers will feel a sick sort of welcoming feeling, like something dark is approaching, yes - but that they should be glad.
Then the feeling of dread reaches them all, regardless of powers or weapons, clutching at every heart. Even those normally immune to fear may find themselves feeling the cold reaching its way inside them with prying fingers.
That's when the calm, misty night is shredded by the first screech, something inhuman, half-animalistic, half metal scraping over concrete. Another screech answers it from a different side of the hill, like the sources of the screeches are pack hunting and slowly closing in. More cold rolls in and the feeling of despair deepens as the sky starts to blot out with floating shadow shapes. The dementors aren't the source of the screeches but they're being spurred on by them, as if the unearthly shrills are calling out orders of some kind. The cold that sets in makes those that can feel cold feel as if they'll never be warm again.
But that isn't the worst of it. There are loud pops as living human figures pop in around the hilltop and its various trails downward. The ceramic and metal masks of dark wizards glint in the moonlight and spells start sparking from their wands as they start firing at the group - and at the dementors and approaching Nazgul. Cackles and sadistic laughter fill the air. Their leader is a woman with a cackle that sounds more mad and more sadistic than the others.
As the first of the cloaked Nazgul approaches from beyond the ring of stones, practically exuding darkness, one of the Death Eaters steps forward. She is shaking and though she pretends it's all rage and the thrill of potentially killing, at least some of it is fear. Even the Death Eaters can feel the chill from the Nazgul and dementors. Lestrange tries to cover that up with her usual sadistic glee.
"Naughty naughty, trying to steal my mistress' prisoners out from under her nose," she crows, flinging curses. "They're not your toys to play with and we'll send you back to your pathetic formless master with your tails between your legs. You may not be able to die for good but we'll make you wish you have!"
She cackles with shrill laughter and the fight begins in earnest. The Nazgul and dementors descend on the group and the Death Eaters do as well - and both sides attack each other, too, not caring who's in the middle. In the space of minutes, the Squad is in the middle of a deadly battleground.
Fortunately, the hill isn't the worst place to make a stand with its ruins providing cover and good vantage points and there are woods to escape to in the lands below if they make a run for it. Maybe, if they're very, very lucky, they might survive the night.
But their odds aren't great. The Death Eaters are a sadistic force to be reckoned with, and the dementors are no less horrifying for having changed sides to work with Sauron. If anything, they're even worse now, and their orders are that only a few need to be captured for Sauron and the Nazgul - the rest can be killed or have their souls sucked.
And many have fallen at the hands of the Nazgul and all flee before their faces - save the one who desires to have the Nine deliver the Squad into his hands, where they can be broken in the deep dungeons of Barad-dûr, where no light has ever touched.
✦ Post in actionspam format. Plots and mod-run events in the game are meant to be in actionspam format to keep a brisk pace.
✦ Free-for-all Post. This event will be in "free-for-all" format, meaning that threadhopping is encouraged and that threading should be treated in the same conversational way as network posts.
✦ NPCing. Players can feel free to godmode the Nazgul and dementors in their own threads, as these npcs don't talk, and have very little personality beyond being pure evil. Please just make them realistically difficult to drive back as they're very powerful, unkillable enemies. However, the mods will npc the Death Eaters since they're intelligent speaking people. A thread will be available in the OOC post where players can link to their threads to request a Death Eater npc to participate.
✦ Fairy Swaps. Now that the fairy swap mechanism will be in place, players can make their quest characters and Brugh characters magically swap places whenever they want, including during the event itself.
✦ When it Takes Place: ICly this is 5 days into the Squad's journey through the hills.
[cw: slurs]
He wraps his arms around Harper, pulling him into a restrictive bear hug and then bringing him to the ground, figuring that there's only so much you can thrash and kick with a big drunk guy and a heavy shield on top of you.]
I'm trying to help, you fucking retard. [Despite how close their faces are, Dixon shouts it. He braces with his leg and shoulder to try and pin Harper harder to the ground. He doesn't have much left in him; if Harper doesn't calm down soon Dixon may very well pass out. His head is spinning; his back is drenched damp with blood; exhaustion feels like it's ripping him apart from the bones out.
The thought of just giving up on Harper and leaving him here in his catastrophic state, at the mercy of the psychos and creepy fuckers attacking them and each other, races through his head. The thought following it is a pang of guilt, not on Harper's behalf but because he knows deep in his gut that it's not what the man Chief wanted him to be would do.
He tries to draw on the letter Chief Willoughby left him, the last advice he'll ever get from the man he loved with dog-like, unconditional devotion. Calm. Thought. Love. The most basic steps in the world and he's still too stupid and angry to get it right.
He focuses on "calm", the only stage of that chain he's ever gotten to yet, and only intermittently. He tries to just focus on one thing: getting Harper to calm down. Tries to dredge up what he remembers about trauma response from academy.]
I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not taking you back anywhere. You're not going back. Breathe.
no subject
[The words trail off into Harper screaming and then sobbing into the dirt, as his brain tells him it's all over now, he's going to be eaten alive. But it also helps at the same time.]
[...Because why is there dirt on the ship? He and Tyr didn't get caught in hydroponics. And the blood in his mouth has the metallic tang of human blood, not the weird, acidic taste he'd gotten biting one of the Magog as he'd been dragged down.]
[The sobbing turns to hyperventilating, which is maybe, possibly a slight improvement and then he calms as he gets yanked out of the memories and reoriented to his surroundings. Finally.]
[He struggles to get free, but it's less wild, he's trying to figure out who's got him pinned down and why, trying to twist out of his grip to face him.]
Who the hell are you?
[It sounds calmer. Irate, rather than someone losing their goddamn mind due to flashbacks.]
no subject
[As if to punctuate that statement, a spell zooms over head and cracks like a gunshot. Whether Harper listens to him or not, Dixon stops holding him down and just goes corpse-like, barely holding on to consciousness for a second. He remembers dimly that he took a knife to the back, that maybe that's something people generally get a little worried about.
He walks that tightrope between struggling for calm and struggling for alertness. Nearly falls off either side. Doesn't. Gets his bearings enough to talk again.]
Don't you dare start screaming at me or getting all bitey again.
[He doesn't know what the hell Harper saw, nor has he had enough time in this whole dogfight to really understand what's going on with the Dementors. They seem familiar, but he can't place them. It all seems very secondary to the immediate concern, which is getting the heck out of there and to the woods - which he imagines will be more difficult if Harper falls back into that shrieking catatonia.
Another spell goes screaming overhead. He rolls off Harper and gets to his knees.]
You run to the woods. I'm gonna throw a rock at these sons of bitches. [He actually picks up a baseball-sized rock, because he's dead serious, and there is at least some stupid logic going on where he thinks he's going to distract them long enough for Harper to make a run for it. It's also just a pretty dumb idea.]
no subject
[He spits out the blood that's still in his mouth from Dixon's hand and starts climbing to his feet, keeping low.]
You're not gonna be able to fight actual-factual, real-life wizards with freakin' rocks, moron. I managed to clock a few with a rock but only 'cause I got 'em from behind. Ranged combat, though? You won't stand a chance without a gun.
[They really need guns. Lots and lots of guns. He's so mad he doesn't have his gun.]
[He grabs Dixon by the arm trying to get him up on his feet to wheel him behind some of the ruins so they have cover.]
And I'm not going anywhere. Now that I'm away from those soul-sucking monsters I have to - I have to -
[It's never easy for him to admit he has to go help someone. He feels so stupid saying it. Always. Who needs sincerity anyway?]
[He sighs.]
Look, there's someone I need to find that ran into this exploding septic tank of a fight like an idiot. He's gonna get himself killed and that's only if he hasn't already. That's only reason I even ran into this mess.
no subject
He's pretty livid about other things too, ranking high on that list the fact that he just saved Harper's life and is immediately getting a faceful of insults. Should have left the little punk screaming, he thinks viciously, then feels guilty again, anger at Harper and anger at himself in a rapidly-cycling ouroboros in his heart.
When Harper yanks him, he gets to his feet and immediately goes back down again to his knees, grinding his teeth at the pain from the stab wound, head spinning. And then gets up again, because if there's one thing he has in spades it's a willingness to take physical pain, to face it and welcome it where he needs to. Compared to any other kind of pain it's a straight cakewalk. He scrambles with Harper behind the ruins.]
Don't talk so much. [Dixon doesn't to add "I can't follow it right now" in front of a guy who just called him a moron, but it's probably pretty obvious to Harper that that's what's going on, all of Dixon's mental energy siphoned off to try and figure out how to get out of here and how not to just pass out.]
What's your friend look like? Because if anyone's gonna find him, it's not you, screaming and pissing yourself out here like a little bitch... [The second part's a near-inaudible mumble, cloaked in Dixon's inebriation and barest hint of civility.] The other folks here got powers and skills. We get to the woods and we'll ask them to find him, you ain't gonna get shit done out here on your own.