EVENT ★ SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

[futurologists]

Following the sudden entrapment of a group of ALASTAIR diplomats, it's clear the true threat to Chantes is still afoot. The sun's disappearance may have been what was on the mission tin, but the man behind the plot is still alive and kicking. On the day the people inside the castle go incommunicado, King Christophe's head is unceremoniously tossed out from one of the towers. The word travels like wildfire from there: the Order of the Chimera's leader, Michel, has taken roost on the throne. But he doesn't seem keen on leaving much to rule — he's been busy littering the city with symbols from his grimoire. And with the king's death, they begin to stir. If ALASTAIR sent the recruits here to save Chantes, Michel and his rituals are why. THE DEMONS All around the city’s landmarks (and a few within the castle), runes have shimmered into existence. Remember those? Bothersome little things that nullify powers. But they’re not nullifying powers this time. These runes shimmer a low, sinister red, even by the bright light of midday. They wait, complacent, not really doing much of anything… that is, unless you try to destroy one of them. The moment a rune is tampered with in any way it flares brightly, and a thin red mist seeps out into the air. Each entity from the rune is a little bit different and fights in a different way, but all of them are unquestionably demonic. Some of them manifest physical forms and attack with claws and bolts of energy, but many of them are not so blunt. In fact, most of these demons are much more insidious, as recruits will quickly discover. POSSESSION Most of these creatures use possession as their main tactic, although their methods vary. Some demons keep themselves invisibly after that initial red leak of mist, choose a target, and begin to whisper in their ear. They’ll promise anything — power, riches, fame. Their words alter what might otherwise be sound judgment, making their target believe that not only are these demons perfectly capable of delivering, but they will impart their gifts just as soon as the recruit takes care of this one little task. Attacking your friend isn’t really so much to ask, right? Just think of the reward, just around the corner! Some demons spark a frenzy in their target. An unquellable rage rises within them, urging them to lash out at anyone around them. Maybe they see a nemesis from their past transposed over a friend, maybe they’re trapped in an unpleasant memory and trying desperately to fight free of it — whatever it takes, these demons relish provoking an uncontrollable need to fight. And finally, some of them will outright inhabit the body of their target and control all of their actions and words. The recruit will be fully aware of their actions, but unable to prevent any of it. They can only watch as the entity within them does whatever it takes to disable the friends around them — treachery, outright attack, whatever is needed. In each case the demons can be exorcised if you happen to be with someone with a knack for it, but otherwise impossible to drive out. The demon will remain in its host until someone else successfully destroys the rune it came from, which will finally kill it. The demons know this, of course, and will focus all effort on stopping any damage to their rune if it seems under threat. The destruction of runes inside the castle will open a thin breach in the barrier spell over it, allowing those inside to slip out (or those outside to slip in). They’d better move fast, though, as the breach will heal itself again in about 30 seconds. Miss your chance and you’ll have to hunt down and destroy another rune. (NOTE: Characters trapped within the castle may escape with enough time to take part in the possession aspect of the event with the rest of the game.) Anyone with a sense for magic can easily tell that the longer these runes go without being destroyed, the stronger their energy pulses. Eventually even ordinary folk will feel it. Townsfolk in the area become uneasy and restless, and proximity to intact runes will begin to fill you with a sense of dread and unnamed anxiety. Something is coming. Something that must be stopped before it can be let into the world. THE SUMMONS No matter how quickly the recruits move, there always seems to be one more rune to find, one more demon to defeat. And still that energy is building. When the town clock strikes 12 noon, the runes are at full strength, and they begin to launch into a coordinated ritual. A summoning spell, to be exact. The demons disappear, their energy sacrificed to bring forth something even worse. All over the city portals begin to open and beasts begin to claw out of them. These are chimeras, straight from myth, each one half the size of a building. They have vast wings and three heads a piece, a lion, a goat, and a dragon — plus a live snake for a tail. The tail’s what you should really look out for. A bite from the snake turns the bitten limb into solid stone, which will take either three days or a splash of blood from one of the chimeras to return to flesh and blood. It can be discovered that these monsters have an odd vulnerability to pure iron. If struck or stabbed by something made of iron their skin blisters and burns — enough of this could prove lethal to it. Or you can murder them the old fashioned way, if you’re good at killing giant monsters. Attacking them isn’t the only thing to be worried about, though. They’re smashing down buildings and attacking indiscriminately, so some characters might find their time well-spent evacuating citizens rather than partaking in the fight directly. The structural damage might be inevitable, but it’s at least possible to mitigate loss of life. THE AFTERWORD A few hours after the final chimera is killed, un-summoned, exploded, whatever its fate might be, recruits will find their ALASTAIR-given jewelry coming to life. It looks like they’re finally breaking their silence. Words scrawl across whatever surface you see them on, written in ornate purple script: On behalf of this land, thank you for your diligence and hard work. You have ten days to settle your affairs in this world before your return to Oska. Just that, then the jewelry dies out again. It’s a bit of an underwhelming show of gratitude, but it gets the point across. Say goodbye to any non-recruit friends you’ve made here, get the last word in on any arguments with the locals, settle your bar tabs — or rack them up, as per inclination. In ten days every ALASTAIR recruit will simply fade away into a white mist from the perspective of the locals. But until then the city is yours, and most importantly, safe. OOC INFO Welcome to the concluding log of Chantes! There's been quite a few pieces to it, so here's an overall list of the week's noteworthy plot posts: Peaceseeking player plot Loki and Ahad addressing Michel's disappearance A request from Arthur Event follow-up with the fate of Michel. Please note that regardless of Michel's end, we will be reading player suggestions and taking them into account for the overall fate of Chantes.

Comments

[hellshaped]

[Fucking rude, tbh. Hellboy catches the busted-up sword easily, though he squints a little at Lancer's reply.]

Delicate stomach? [he chides flatly, hooves carrying him closer to the downed chimera with a clip clop that can barely be heard over the thing's anger. It'd almost be pathetic, if the thing weren't such a mindlessly raging beast.

It's only by the grace of God (or his human "parent," honestly) that Hellboy isn't in the same situation. Just some raging thing whose only purpose is destruction.

He pauses at the head of the chimera, mouth twitching, then pushes his thoughts away. He raises the sword high over his head and brings it down on the monster's neck. Blood and ichor spray out and it's disgusting, but he has to go back and whack at it a few times. It's a big neck and this is a comparatively small sword.]

I can't say I missed this line of work. [Says the man covered in monster blood and scratches, his coat pretty much just hanging off him in rags.]

[riastraid]

[ Yes, he's a delicate flower, don't judge him. But no, the truth: he's interested in using a sword that shitty. While Lancer wants for nothing, he's a little spoiled when it comes to tools of the murder trade. Hence— ]

Really? I kinda miss it.

[ Simpler days, then. Says one man to another whilst standing in a pool of monster blood. He doesn't so much as grimace at all the viscera, expression placid as he goes over to check out Hellboy's hackjob. Inelegant, but he's not one to judge. ]

You should come out of retirement—you're pretty good at this.

[hellshaped]

[At least the chimera is dead now. Or, well, he hopes. It would be pretty terrible if it were flying around, headless.

Hellboy pokes it with the tip of his hoof just in case. It is pretty well dead. Ignoring the blood coating his hands and everything else, he fishes out a cigarette and lights it.]

I did it for a long time. You get tired of it: the blood, the horrible stuff these things do. [He takes a moment to wipe the sword off on the chimera's mane. It's basically just a beat-up hunk of metal now, but you never know when you might need some iron.] The things you learn.

[riastraid]

Hmm—maybe I just haven't had the time to get jaded about it.

[ There's a joke buried in his tone, but he doesn't follow up. Instead, he assesses. From the sounds of it, the chimera slaying is finally starting to wind down—the once constant howls and screaming has settled into an eerie stillness. The townsfolk are probably squirreled away, and the square is silent for it. In the peace, he watches Hellboy with an unwavering stare, like he's studying his granite-like face, formulating some winding question of what makes a man and what makes a beast.

The things learned from being either.

He perks up, pointing. Not at his weird face. The cigarette. ]

Hey—you got any more of those you wanna share?

[ He looks unduly excited, eyes bright. ]

I've always wanted to give smoking a go.

[hellshaped]

[Hellboy has the tendency to brood, and right now is no exception; he'll withdraw into himself and ask himself questions he doesn't want to ask in the first place, and wind up at the bottom of a bottle instead of answering. So any interruption is, frankly, welcome.

It takes him a second to break out of it, and he blinks, looking at Lancer sideways, then down at the cigarette in his mouth.]

You serious? [Reaching into his pocket, he finds the crumpled pack of cigarettes and tosses them over.] You know this stuff's bad for you, right?

[riastraid]

[ Brooding is for losers and anime antagonists, he doesn't believe in it. And it's silly to do in proper company. He's saving you some embarrassment by being a mooch, Hellboy.

Lancer catches the pack and promptly taps one out. The cigarettes are a little worn, crumpled and soft, but it'll still be the best smoke he's ever had. Silver lining of the day. He rolls it over the pad of his thumb before raising it to his mouth, one brow popped up and back to a crooked smile against the filter.

Warning heard and unheeded. But, ]

Yeah? [ He's immune to cancer, it's fine... ] Then why do you do it?

[hellshaped]

[Why? Because Hellboy is probably immune to cancer, too. The perks of functional immortality.

That's not really an answer though, so he shrugs and fishes out his matchbook. He's almost out (of the cigarettes too, incidentally), so with any luck, the next world they're whisked away to will have these sorts of things on-hand.

Trying his best to avoid splashing blood around, he steps around the chimera's corpse to hand the matches over.]

Habit, I guess. I've quit before, but it never seems to stick.

[riastraid]

Guess it's better not to start in the first place.

[ Oh well. Anyway. He could spark it on his own—fire runes are not difficult—but he gladly accepts the little matchbook instead. Lancer takes and turns everything over in his hands a few times more than necessary, because even with the Grail imbuing its Servants with the basics, there are things to learn. Manufactured matchsticks, self sabotage through cancer sticks, red men in tattered trenchcoats. He adjusts fast, but it's still a few centuries worth of little things.

He strikes a match and cradles the flame in his hand, lighting the cigarette carefully. He's pleased with himself for all of half a second before he breathes in, nose crinkling, exhaling too quickly and letting a whole lungful of smoke escape as he complains. ]

...This tastes like crap. [ He says, trying again. Give him a week, he'll be hooked. ] You should quit again and give me the rest.

[hellshaped]

[There are little things about Lancer that make Hellboy wonder about him. Never trying cigarettes before is not unusual, but the way he looks over the matchbook... like he's never seen anything like that before. Not that this is unusual either -- Hellboy regularly kicks it with someone who's been literally living under a rock for thousands of years -- but in other things, Lancer seems very well-adapted to modernity. It's strange.

He doesn't say anything about it though, just tilts his head and curls his lip in his equivalent of a grin.]

Let me guess. For my own good, right? [He holds his hand out for the matchbook.] If I ever decide to, you'll be the first in line to bequeath it all.

[Little does he know he's getting some fancy cigars later so FAT CHANCE but still.]

[riastraid]

[ It's not exactly unique to Servants; plenty of people here have been displaced by a few millennia, dragged in from some off-kilter universe. Hellboy seems adaptable enough, same as him, but even then they're probably better off in some musty old Lang book. At least Lancer's got the benefit of fitting in—mostly—if he invests in hair dye and some slacks.

But he seems fine shooting the shit besides the world's most docile demon too, flicking ash aside with a return-fire grin. If that was a grin?

...Close enough. ]

Of course! [ Best interests at heart, always. ] You're a pal, Hellboy.