epidemiology | EVENT ★ POKAREKARE ANA

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EVENT ★ POKAREKARE ANA

NALANNI

Now as weak as any mortal, Nalanni only needs one person to dispatch her. Though Jason has been selected for the sad deed, it would be smart not to let him go it alone.

Once Nalanni ceases to be, the ground quakes and roils. The planet's rock and earth can feel the loss of its mother, and with Ryba still living, the power imbalance throws the world into turmoil. Monsters stream forth from the cave Nalanni had been held on the risen Dakal island. But unlike before, when Pomarr blew through the side of Nalalona and left lava creatures in her wake, these monsters are made of stone. And they are gigantic.

Ranging from five to nine meters (roughly 16-30 feet), the stone golems are slow-moving but powerful, capable of crushing anything in their path with their feet or powerful fists. The golems cannot be spoken to or reasoned with; all they feel is the loss of their mother and the vacuum of power she has left behind. Their mindless anger makes them easily distracted, so teamwork is the best way to keep them at bay. Roughly formed of rock and hardened mud, they are weak to water. Luckily, halfway through the day, a light rain begins to fall.

The golems will continue to come forth from the earth until Ryba is defeated. Upon her death, they will simply collapse into inert piles of stone.

stephan martiniere

RYBA THE DEVOURING ONE

Pomarr stays true to her word and draws the sea goddess to the shore of the deserted island that once housed the Dakal. Without comment, Pomarr turns and steps into an ALASTAIR rift, leaving your team to its business.

Ryba is impossibly large, a mass of twisting, searching tentacles with no discernible body. She is especially weak to electrical attacks, but can otherwise be defeated by simply wearing her down with brute force. Now that you've got your collective powers back, it should be a piece of cake. Right?

ATTACKS:

TENTACLES. Ryba's initial attack is waving her massive, numerous tentacles around to try and keep combatants at bay. Despite their size, they are surprisingly quick -- capable of snapping at anyone who dares get too close, whiplike, or simply crushing those who stay still for too long. Her tentacles are seemingly endless, impossible to count, and move about in a nearly hypnotic way.

THE STORM. After enough damage has been dealt, Ryba will grow more desperate and begin to use her connections to the sea itself. Though the battle is near the shore, sudden winds whip at the recruits, pulling them away from the shallows. Drowning becomes a real danger: the waves are high and fast, and intensely swirling waterspouts crisscross with intent to sweep recruits up, scrambling them.

SHARKNADO. Ryba's last-ditch effort calls upon the creatures of the sea as well as the wind and waves. She creates a swirling vortex with her massive body in the center in attempts to shield herself from attacks. But that's not all -- spinning around her at high speeds with the vortex are sharks. A lot of sharks. And they are all angry.

If characters attempt to speak with Ryba through the battle, she will respond in a calm, dark voice throughout: she has nothing to say to the invaders who would dare take her from the peace of her trench, except that they must destroy her or she will kill them all herself, before the world crumbles to nothing.

Once Ryba is defeated, her massive body will simply cease moving. Goddess or not, it seems her form is as physical as any other creature of the sea.

waqas malik

ISLANDERS

During the day-long battle, characters who choose not to fight are advised to stay behind with the Nalawi to keep them safe. Though the battle rages far to the west, on the once-sunken island of the Dakal, the storms may travel to the westernmost edges of the Nalawi islands. Recruits may attempt to temporarily evacuate the westernmost Nalawi, though there may be considerable resistance.

After the battle, the Nalawi can instantly tell that their goddess is gone for good. Where there was once confusion and desperation in the face of Nalanni's disappearance, there is now only sorrow and directionlessness. All recruits are invited to return to Komo, the first island at the start of the mission, for a somber memorial for Nalanni: the Nalawi don't blame the recruits for what has happened, and only expect them to join in their grief.

For the rest of the time on Nalawi, characters may spend their time as they wish. The locals will need help learning how to cope without their Gifts and how to live without the goddess on whom they had come to rely. They will need help learning all sorts of trades, from fishing to pottery to plumbing, so characters who have knowledge in the mundane will have their time to shine.

But the Timeline is always in need of tending, so recruits can't stay here forever. Say your goodbyes, because soon a rift will open and you'll be headed back to Oska.

OOC INFO

Mods will not be NPCing the Ryba encounter, so you are free to NPC her attacks yourself. Please remember that defeating her is a group effort; no one person will have the "killing blow."

The battle against Ryba will take one full day. After she is defeated, recruits will have 13 days to say goodbye to the Nalawi before departing for Oska.

If characters wish to temporarily stay behind in Nalawi, see here for details.

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[There were numerous things about what had happened that left Sieglinde uncomfortable about the death of the goddesses, but what was done could not be undone. They were gone, the Nalawi were left Gift-less, and ALASTAIR's "mission" was accomplished.

But what that meant for her future with the group, what it meant for their next mission... those were thoughts heavy on her mind throughout the memorial, dogging her steps even as she made to leave, her careful steps supported by the crutch she'd refound.

Sieglinde catches sight of Koltira after she paid her respects, staring quietly across the space between, sizing up his injuries, going over the last time they'd spoken. The arguing, the inability to see eye to eye over such an emotional issue, the news of Pomarr, of you would be a distraction...

Before she made up her mind despite, changing course to slowly make her way towards him.]

Koltira.

[As wounded as he was... it wasn't so badly that she didn't greet him first, leaning on her crutch and gazing up at his face, expression somewhat reserved, a bit dependent on how he answered her question.]

... Have you been mollified?

[ Koltira furrows his long eyebrows as he regards Sieglinde, though his expression betrays little else. He continues to stand quite still, looking like a marble statue recently defaced, and his voice is the same thick, guttural growl as always. ]

No. That is not why I did this.

[ Not in the end. ]

["No".

It wasn't quite the answer she'd been expecting, but Sieglinde had learned since her arrival to Oska the first time that such things would occur. This wasn't her village, that she knew the ins and outs of. These weren't here villagers. They were all terribly complex people, from worlds and backgrounds she couldn't begin to understand.

So she just was quiet a moment, before she looked over his injuries once more.]

Have you need of a healer?

[More like, "have you want" of one, but.]

Only if you are willing.

[ 'Want' is the correct term, as he rarely ever needs healing; given time, his wounds will close on their own, and he is in no danger of bleeding out in the meanwhile. ]

If you know a healer unwilling, they are no healer at all.

[Maybe it was a bit of a broad statement, even she knew that- but still. Sieglinde gave a small sigh, (men were so annoying about getting healed, sometimes, honestly), gesturing to the stones used as seats for the memorial.]

Sit down.

[Making such a mess, with his blood everywhere, really...]

[ He's from Azeroth; he knows LOTS OF RUDE HEALERS. But he won't question her statement, nor her command. He sits, as instructed, one leg folded over the other. He has a look on his face like he's clearly steeling himself for what's to come. ]

Whenever you're ready.

[Wow, rude.

Sieglinde looks at his face for a moment, analyzing his expression. He didn't look particularly at ease, but, she could only attribute that to a dislike of healing or healers, a rather common fear even in the burliest of men.

So she awkwardly set aside her crutch and got to her knees beside him, rubbing her fingers a bit as if to get the magic flowing as one would blood before she laid a hand on his leg, just above where skin was touchable through a bloody rip in fabric, eyes fluttering closed and breathing slowing as she began to speak, the long dead language turned understandable thanks to ALASTAIR's technology.]

As I see thee weltering in thine blood, I call upon the goddess who governs to aide you now...

[It wasn't a sacred spell, despite the evocation of some goddess- it was a magic that came from her own self, flowing outward from fingers and into his own skin, seeping slow and steady up the body, reknitting flesh and soothing pains along the way.]

[ Unfortunately, healing magic is anything but soothing for Koltira. His body is unnatural; an abomination. It resists almost all mending, fights tooth and nail against restoration. Koltira grinds his teeth in pain as the magic does its work. He tries to remain stoic, but he had suffered quite a few abrasions at Ryba's hands (or tentacles), and there is much for Sieglinde's spell to do.

He lowers his head, groaning, clutching his chest. But the magic works: the flesh comes together. The blood flow stops. ]

[Though she noticed Koltira's pain on the edges of her senses, what little she still had not consumed with the concentration her spellcasting required, Sieglinde didn't stop what she was doing. There was no way he didn't know that was going to happen, and if he could bear it... that was his own judgement.

As the spell finished it's work, she withdrew her hand with a soft sigh, sagging a bit into the sand. She might be the Green Witch in truth and not just name now, thanks to ALASTAIR, but her magic was humble compared to others with more natural gifts, and she paid for what she did with her own energy.

Still, she'd had time to rest since the battle with the goddesses, so it was merely a sense of vague tiredness, nothing more.]

- There.

[ He exhales hard, not out of necessity, but simply as an expression of the lingering pain. His fingers dig into the sand, turning it up, smearing the pale grains over the tops of his palms. ]

Thank you, Sieglinde.

[ He watches her sag, frowning a little. ]

I did not mean for you to exert yourself on my account.

It is fine. Healers tire themselves for their patients- mine is simply more literal.

[She exchanged her own energy to power her spells, and her reserves were modest compared to those amongst their number who were Servants, warlocks, and other forms of mages.

Sieglinde was in no rush to try and stand up, though, with how sand caused her mobility problems. Casting a vague look about, she finally turned back to looking at Koltira.

She had questions she wished to ask, but. He deserved privacy just as much as she desired her own, and that, at least, she could respect.]

... your magic is largely ice, yes?

[ His ears fold back slightly--that's true enough, but he still dislikes the thought of her exhausting herself to heal someone like him. He frowns at his hands; shakes his head. ]

No. Not at all. My specialty is in blood magic.

[ He draws Byfrost from his back, and sets the runeblade down flat in front of them both. Runes shimmer on its surface. ]

Ice is restraining. Less lethal, if properly controlled. It is therefore my first resort.

[Ah. Blood magic. Fitting, perhaps, for someone who was apparently undead... but still a dangerous type. Something he seemed to understand at least.

The blade she recognized from his... rather dramatic network post, but she took this opportunity to examine it closer, eyes skimming over the runes.]

Is it innate, or learned, with you?

My people are inherently attuned to magic.

[ He frowns, shaking his head. ]

But, in life, I was simply a warrior. The power I wield was pressed on me after I was raised into undeath.

Who are your people?

[If she could ask, that was. She didn't look him in the eyes when she asked, tried to soften it to an easily brushed off thing if he didn't wish to speak about where he came from or his own circumstance.

After all... she had secrets, too.]

[ It's actually a difficult question to answer. They're sin'dorei now, but he was still quel'dorei when he died. He identifies with the new name his people took for themselves, even if he's never returned to Silvermoon, even if he typically avoids engaging with the living remnant of his race. ]

Sin'dorei. Blood elves. Once known as the high elves.

[ She may not be meeting his eyes, but he's looking directly at her, his own ice-blue eyes cold and far-away. ]

Until we were nearly slaughtered, almost to a man. A woman. A child.

[ In a genocide. ]

I suppose the prefix there implies you've several species of elf in your world... ?

[She led with that, because he said enough to remind her of his rage against Nalanni, the video that he had discovered in the ruins of the Dakal civilization. Genocide was a touchy subject, it's not like she knew it wasn't, even when she argued for logic and cool heads. It wasn't something easily explored... So she began with the simpler of the learned things, roundabout, only slowly returning her gaze to the man in question.

How he reached would determine if she asked or not. It wasn't her intent to actually upset him. The goddesses were already dead.]

A few. But the blood elves are not so distinct from the quel'dorei. We took that name in honor of our fallen. In memorial.

[ He's still pretty bitter about Nalawi. Bitter that so many people dismissed--or seemed to dismiss--Nalanni's actions out of hand. As if they didn't matter. As if the wholesale slaughter of an entire people did not matter.

It matters to him. ]

Some few high elves remain. But their numbers dwindle with each passing year, and collectively we are not many to begin with. The Scourge took nearly all of us.

[ He gestures to himself. ]

Including me.

[Blood Elves. Quel'dorei. High elves. Scourge. It was difficult to place the words of others' worlds well, but she did her best with the context she had. The scourge would be what turned him undead... ?]

What is the Scourge, exactly... ? Some sort of... plague?

[The name sounded as if it were to her own ears, but. She'd never heard of a sickness that could cause undeath.]

An army of the dead. The plague often announced their coming.

[ He shakes his head. ]

Sick for three days. Death. And then--rising.

[ He looks to Byfrost, gleaming darkly. ]

But that is not what happened to me. There are many paths to undeath on Azeroth. I was killed, and my body was raised by necromancers. Converted into what you see now.

[Many ways to raise the dead... He had even said he himself was capable, depending on the situation... It was so strange to imagine. In her own world, she had never viewed in death as a true probability. Oh, there were tomes on the subject, and she had read them... How to return the dead to life, how to bargain for a soul... But it was dangerous work, risky-

And his world had an army of them sickening the world and rising?]

... I apologize. It must not be easy to discuss.

[As curious as she was, perhaps she ought not ask any further.]

It is of no concern.

[ Really, it's not. Just one horrible thing in a long tapestry of horrible things. ]

But you have done as I asked. I am sure you have others to tend to.

[ He makes a 'go on' gesture. ]

[How many horrible things could happen in such horribly creative ways when you put different worlds into the mix?

Who really wanted to know?]

Of course.

[Taking that as her cue to leave him be, Sieglinde managed to get to her feet, brushing off her skirts.]

If you've further need of my services, you know how to contact me.

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EVENT ★ POKAREKARE ANA

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