epidemiology | EVENT ★ WILL O' WISP

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EVENT ★ WILL O' WISP

WELCOME TO NALAWI

When the newest recruits are surrounded and taken away from Oska by the white mist of an opening rift, they’ll find themselves brought somewhere no one meant for them to be.

There is stone all around, and recruits seem to have been transported into some sort of cave network. If the recruit in question has any sort of non-human powers, magic, or abilities, they will find that this has been either severely dampened by an unknown force, or removed altogether.

There isn’t any sunlight to be had anywhere, and some places in this strange, sprawling labyrinth are thrown into deep and complete darkness. In other places a subterranean, luminescent fungus grows on the wall, providing an eerie sort of green-blue light. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around to provide guide or explanation; recruits are free to explore this strange, silent place as they will. It’s no use trying to keep from getting lost, it’s a hopeless maze of unending stone hallways. But at least they have each other in this stifling darkness, right?

Be careful, though. Small clicks sound now and then in the darkness: little shelled insects that scuttle up the walls and across the floor. They seem to feed on the fungus, and are peaceful enough if left alone. If approached, though, they’ll lash out with the stinger on their long tails before rushing away again into the darkness. The stings from these creatures are painful, and temporarily paralyze whatever limb has been struck. It will last for at least an hour before wearing off again.

There is one other creature of note within this stone labyrinth: there is exactly one large cavern in this mess of halls and dead ends, and it contains a woman. She is hard to define, her form is made of living flame that casts dancing shadows from the bars of her cage. She sits peacefully against the far wall of the room, and thick bars of stone, shaped from the ceiling and floor themselves, provide her cell. She can be approached, and will speak if spoken to, but makes no attempt to move or escape.

No matter how ALASTAIR’s newest arrivals spend their time, eventually there is an interruption. Maybe you’re in that single, occupied cavern when she arrives and you spot her, or maybe you’re still lost in the maze and never even found the cavern or saw either creature at all. It doesn’t matter. A tall, cat-like woman with eerie blue light gleaming from her dead eyes arrives in time, and she knows immediately she and her captive are not alone here. She will say nothing, she will allow no time for questions. With one wave of her hand, a fierce wind stirs to life and begins to howl through the maze. It’s strong enough to literally pick you up off your feet and hurdle you through the darkness, and somehow avoids smashing its prizes into any walls. This wind knows exactly where it’s taking its captives, and it knows the way. All at once the recruits will find themselves blasted straight up into the open sky, and into the middle of a powerful hurricane.

This windy, dizzying experience lasts a good ten minutes as recruits are buffeted and spun end-over end in the hurricane as they leave land and travel over the sea, but it does end eventually. They are dumped unceremoniously on the western shore of a new place, the island of Pu’ulai, Nalawi, and the storm dissipates instantly after leaving them there.

Those recruits that have been on Nalawi a little longer are welcome to spot the odd, impossibly brief storm along that western edge and investigate. They’ll find that Pomarr has delivered them a few wayward recruits.

Welcome to Nalawi. Sorry about the local gods.

OOC NOTES

Characters will arrive in these caves first and spend an unspecified amount of time within them. This section of the log is closed to new arrivals only. You may choose to have your character run into the fiery lady (please see the thread below to have an encounter) solo, with another character (or characters), or not at all. Either way, they will eventually be brought to Nalawi proper, where any character in the game may encounter them.

To catch up on the recent goings-on, there's an OOC post here that should answer your questions, accompanied by this IC post. The mission briefing your character received is here, and you can find more information on the island your characters ended up on, Pu'ulai, here.

If you have any questions, feel free to direct them to the subthread below!

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Keeping his eyes out for any other people falling out of the sky, it takes Meallan a moment to realise that this particular shape is much bigger than what he'd expected and then as soon as he realises that, his mind picks out wings and puts it together as dragon a moment before he throws himself down to avoid what he's certain is going to be a gout of fire hot enough to turn sand to glass.

He rolls and clambers to his feet without the smoothness that he would have had a month before, cursing how little practise he'd done in combat after losing his arm. But he's up and the dragon isn't yet, its floundering in the water and clearly thrown off by the fall giving him a chance to toss a flare of bright magical energy at it that's fortunately lessened enough by this world to only sting a little since it's about then that he realises two things. The first is that this is an awfully small dragon, only a drake at best, and the second is that it's talking.

The second is enough that the second spell doesn't leave his hand, though Meallan still jerks back and flinches, expecting fire that doesn't come when the creature shrieks. He takes another step back as it finally reaches the shore, his nerves struggling not to immediately attack the dragon, even if it doesn't seem to be an immediate threat. He can't believe he's doing this but...

"...hello?"

If Laedo had been any more on the ball--that is to say, if he too had not been drained nearly dry of his own magic--he'd have been so curled up behind a shell of protective energy that he likely would not have felt such a sting.

But he's not, and the flare snicks vulnerable wing flesh, and the askan snarls and whips his head wildly to find the source of what had stung him. He's still addled from the incredibly painful and disorienting journey out of the tunnels, so before Meallan can utter his little greeting, Laedo's dragged himself to his full glorious height to mantle his wings--not especially clever, but he can't help but feel angry. "Was that you?!" he demands, seawater and spittle flying from his mouth in a rare bout of absolutely uncontrolled fury. He's injured, standing to favour his back paw, and he's off balance with water still pouring over his golden armour and out of his iridescent fur.

Talking or not, it looks all the world like a dragon preparing to attack, a sight he's uncomfortably familiar with. Sparks fill his palm again, another bolt of magic ready to fire, although Meallan manages to stay his hand for the moment. The dragon is talking, he reminds himself. It's not like those of his world, it might be reasonable.

(Although if it's not, he hopes its not so different that a fireball in the throat is ineffective.)

"It was," he confirms, well aware that the collected magic in his only hand is too obvious to deny, and if the dragon means to try for a kill, it won't do him much good to lie anyway.

"Dragons aren't friendly where I'm from, but they also don't speak so it's clear I've likely overreacted. I'm willing to apologise and make it up to you if you like, but I want to be sure you're not going to kill me first."

"I am not a dragon," Laedo spits, flapping his wings once in complete dismissal... and then folding them irritably over his dripping armor. "And I don't kill hu...most people." Pointy ears. Magic use, too... in Laedo's world, a creature like Meallan would most likely call itself a daemon--a kind of creature he also has no love for. In his weakened state he is going to keep a very close eye on this man.

"Stand down and I'll take you off the menu," he suggests as he drags himself to some dry, soft sand. Only when he's able to collapse does he give the other a closer look. "I'm waiting." For the apologize and the favour, no doubt.

"You look like one," Meallan can't help but point out, still distrusting and on edge. But there's a pang that reminds him how he'd feel about people assuming he were human and he relents, letting the magic fade away and lowering his hand. Though he still watches cautiously as the... creature... drags itself to some nearby sand.

His jaw tightens at the prodding but he had offered the truce, and makes himself exhale slowly before bowing to the other.

"I'm sorry for attacking you. I should have kept in mind that this world isn't my own and that something that seems like a dragon isn't necessarily a threat." Straightening again, he adds: "But if you're not a dragon, what are you? Other than the fact you can speak and a few minor differences, you look very much like a small dragon."

"And you are very much like an annoying human," Laedo snipes back. He hurts; that amount of force had sent him caroming off of walls before he'd been blasted into the sky, and the mosquito-like drone of a tactless biped isn't helping any.

Huffing, eventually laying prone enough that even his jaw was flat to the sand, he decided against ignoring Meallan outright. "I'm an asandus--an askan asandus, which is to say, my race was chosen and melded by my goddess to do her work." Or so they'd all been taught. He was very uncertain about whether he believed the authenticity of that statement, and so his tone came out flat, where a few weeks ago he'd have spoken with glittering pride.

"What are you, or is that forehead wrinkling some kind of injury?"

Meallan visibly bristles at that, disliking being compared to a human just as much as the asandus clearly dislikes being called a dragon, but he'll let it go and consider them even. For now. It's as much diplomacy as he can manage right now though.

Or at least he's managing to tell himself that until the asandus insults his vallaslin as well.

He draws himself up to his full height then and stalks closer, less out of a need to show the creature what he clearly can't see correctly as it is a display that he's not afraid of him.

"I'm an elf," he says, gesturing at his ears and then face. "And my tattoos are vallaslin, markings of my people. I'd prefer if you called me Meallan, not human."

Laedo is not much taken aback, though he does consider the elf's words. 'Elf'? He'll just have to take him for his word. "Meallan," Laedo allows, head inclining on his arched neck, "from where I stand it is difficult to tell most bipeds apart, and where I come from it is only asandae that display their cultural differences so clearly in their skin, or hair... or ears, I suppose." He leans down close, looking the man over. "You kill dragons as a matter of course?" It makes him understandably uncomfortable. "Why?"

Despite the bravado, Meallan takes a step back as the asandus bends closer to him, his instincts still screaming that he should be running for cover and tossing some magic to slow the beast down now, that he's seen what happens to those who aren't fast enough when a dragon is attacking. He can tell that even if there's never the slightest sign of danger, he's going to have to deal with his instincts possibly making things awkward, and hopes that it won't lead to any awkward apologies later.

"Usually if they're a threat to others more than anything," he answers, making himself meet the other's eyes and focus on the differences from the dragons he knows, the intelligence in the gaze being the most important right now. "I don't go chasing them down, if that's what you're thinking. But if they're attacking a village and threatening the livelihood of people who had been living there for years without problem, then yes."

He recalls a more recent encounter with one of the great creatures and absently rubs the stump of his left arm. "But the last dragon we encountered we released. It was being kept captive and simply wanted freedom anyway. Letting it go was easier for both of us."

It probably doesn't help that one of Laedo's eyes, intelligent though they are, is bleary with a mix of something oily purple and blood red. When he blinks, he seems to hold that one shut a little longer, like it's annoying him. He's paying attention to the elf's explanation, however, with no sign of feral instinct to guide him. "Your 'dragon' problem sounds more like caetran incursions, amongst my people. In my world, those who tend to call us 'dragons' revere us as protectors, though they have a funny way of showing it."

He catches sight of the way that Meallan is rubbing his arm--or his lack of one, and makes a supposition that he doesn't voice aloud. That would explain the static shock to the wing-shoulder, among the rest of this blither.

"In a way, you're lucky to have met me. If any of your beasts rear their ugly heads, I'll know what to do with them."

"I'll have to take your word for it, unless you want to try filling me in on what caetran are and why they're making incursions in your territory," Meallan answers wryly. The eye does catch his attention, but he imagines if it is an injury or something else, then the asandus likely won't want a stranger prying, just as he himself doesn't tend to do into full detail on his own noticeable wounds with those he's just met. It's a difficult enough story to explain to his friends, after all.

He does laugh at other parts of what the other says though. "You're not wrong about my luck," he says, still clearly amused. "If you'd attacked, the best I could hope for is enough of a distraction to make a run for it. A one-armed mage on his own against a dragon is a very one-sided fight.

"And it's strange you mention it; I have- had- a friend who's people also revere dragons in my world and he generally liked fighting them as well."

"That is because all humanoids enjoy the barbarous arts to some degree or another. It comes with being godless," Laedo replies knowingly. Whoops, that's something of an assumption, isn't it? He flicks one ear back, then the other, and settles on an apologetic cant to his head. "Mine do, in any case. If you do not know what a caetran is, I will not sully your ears with a description. The less said, the better."

Turning and inspecting his ankle with his long neck and snout, Laedo gave a whuff of disdain. "I don't suppose there are any healers among Nalanni's children, are there?"

Meallan's eyebrows raise at that comment. It seems like the asandus mightn't be as different from certain people he's met before after all, even if their shapes are.

"In my people's experience," he says, his voice even to the point of being almost dangerous. "It's those that believe so strongly in their gods being the only ones that matter that cause worse problems."

He glances then to the other's wounds and shakes his head. "If they did, they likely don't now. from what I understand, the people here lost their abilities, and those of us who still retain something have it diminished."

That's the sound of repressed fury sliding out; Laedo recognizes the smooth, flat tone from having used it so often himself. Being of two minds about deities, himself, he can empathize. He'll let it slide, though it is far from off his mind, not when he has a sacred task to follow through on, or die trying.

"Ryba," he grumbles dangerously. "Draining every last drop of magic from the world. Disgusting. Untenable. In that case," he casts about, looking for something like a splint, and fails to see anything in reach. "Meallan, are you versed in any healing, yourself? I would spell this myself but... hrm." He's saving the magic stored in his plates of armor for any danger he might encounter, and a sprained ankle is not worth the effort just now.

"So I've heard is the case," Meallan answers as non-committally as he can. It's not a topic he wants to fight with everyone over as others seem to wish to, and after his one attempt to discuss his point of view failed so badly, he's more wary about trying.

"But I'm afraid that even if I had my magic, I couldn't heal that for you unfortunately. I wish I could, but healing magic is something that I never had much luck with in my own world, and with the effect on magic here... I think all I could manage would be closing a few cuts."

But he feels bad now, believing that the injuries are likely his fault for his rash attempt to attack the other. "I could see about finding help for you, or anything else you might need? It is my fault after all."

"Your fault," Laedo retorts, just a touch too proud and a touch too slow to spring Meallan's self-imposition. "No, this is the fault of that unholy abomination that has had Nalanni pinned deep underground. That foul-smelling creature managed to conjure a full storm's power in the confines of a labyrinth and had me thrown forcibly from the tunnels below. Yours was but a spark, an annoyance."

...He's not very good at making others feel better. Still, he tries. "Your assistance would be appreciated, however. Guide me to the nearest point of civilization and I shall make do."

Meallan resists the urge to roll his eyes at the other's obvious ego, but before he can say anything about how much the asandus complained about an 'annoyance', the rest of it dawns on him and his brow furrows.

"Wait, you saw Nalanni? The goddess?" he asks, eyes wide in surprise. "How? I didn't think anyone knew where she was."

For one thing, if they had he's fairly certain several people would have tried to kill her already...

"How," Laedo begins, drawing in a growl of a breath, "how relates to the utter disaster of being dumped at random in the tunnels deeply webbed below this island, and maybe others. I found perhaps two others in my time wandering--hours. Hours of viciously trapped wandering, and managed to find my way to a depressing prison cell. She was chained to the far corner by a magical tether, her power drained, her light all but snuffed out. If I get my hands on this Pomarr she'll be little more than a bloody pulp."

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EVENT ★ WILL O' WISP

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