Sixth Iteration Logs

<div class="postheader">WHO: (Who is making the post)
WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: (When the post takes place)
OPEN TO: (Who the post is open to tags from -- Specific characters, all, none, etc.)
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering) <hr></div>
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demonic_divinity

WHO: Vergil Sparda
WHERE: The Inn, In and around House 48.
WHEN: July 17/19th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None, will update.

The Inn
Waking in the morning, Vergil set about gathering up the few things he had. More people had arrived since he had, and despite knowing the Inn was the best place to be, namely with his lack of survival skills. He was a loner by nature and the inn was just to full for his liking. The journal he had grabbed up on the day of the quake shoved in his bag with the rest of the things he arrived with in the bag.

He left the door cracked, to make sure it was clearly vacant now, moving down the steps quickly, stopping long enough to get something to eat to tide him over for awhile. Not being able to have whatever he wanted just delivered really sucked. Even pizza sounded like a heavenly gift now after the past week or so.

Around House 48 and the Mill
Vergil had walked around the village, as he had tried to do each day, but the rains and the quake had hindered his plans mostly. He had made his way around looking at empty houses, not going in just looking for something aesthetically pleasing. As if that even mattered in the situation he had found his life in of late. Some habits were hard to break.

Even his old base for the Order had been beautiful in its decay. So when he wandered his way across the water to the Mill, he found a small group of houses past the mill. It was a house with red brick and blue trim that called to him. Walking up the steps it was easy to tell this place was unoccupied. He held tighter to the backpack over his shoulders and made his way on up through the yard pushing the door open, the months and months on months and months of dust fluttered around, he sneezed loudly at that but left the door open. The first thing he did was walk around and open all the windows. It was hard to turn off the voice in the back of his mind screaming open windows invite robbers... but really? This wasn't Limbo City, and it sure had nothing worth stealing.

The door stayed open left the backpack on the porch and went in search of anything he could use to get the dust up, no broom in sight he did however find linens and stupidly decided to use one of the sheets to try to clean the dust up with it. It quickly got dirty as could be. A pillow case came next to start cleaning some of the furniture. Every now and then he would have to step outside and start sneezing loudly. Being human sucked. It wasn't fair that he had to clean, he was almost tempted to go back to the inn, but he had already committed to the idea.

Before the sun set he had found a way to beat the dust out of the mattress after stripping it and the pillows. All the linens needed washed but he was to tired to care. A month ago he would have judged himself. Sleeping on a dusty bare bed sounded more like something Dante would do than himself. He wanted a shower as well, but he wasn't sure how well he trusted the running water yet, the house had a long way to go, and the dark of the night felt a lot more noticeable by himself, still he was exhausted so sleep came quickly.

After morning came, he gave the plumbing a shot, changing into his spare scrubs after a quick cold bath. His reflection in the dirty mirror almost disappointed him, but an idea struck. Running down to the kitchen he looked around. The kitchen had dishes, and other things. He hurried down through the yard once he found the largest pan, taking the dirty bed clothes with him, though he had no soap yet, he tried his best to get some of the filth off the sheets. It made his arms ache pulling the wet sheets out and wringing them, throwing the wet pillow cases in the pan. With wet sheets over his arms folded enough to keep them from dragging. He made his way back from the river. He looked at the mill a moment, tipping his head to the side. Another idea forming but for now he had a house to clean and a survival manual to read.

It was mid afternoon when he gave up for awhile and could be found sitting on the front porch with the sheets hanging off the porch's rails, and the Army survival manual in hand, reading quietly. The house still had a lot of work it needed, and he needed to figure out how to clean the gutters and check and see if the furnace could be cleaned, but for a spoiled rich kid, he was pretty proud of what he had gotten done even if his clothes were filthy. The stolen journal from the inn's storage room was open next to him as he quietly jotted notes.

pharmakis

WHO: Circe
WHERE: Near the Mill
WHEN: 7/10
OPEN TO: Jon Snow, OTA
WARNINGS: Lightning strike

Closed to Jon Snow:

The singing of the plants had returned. While she wasn't able to cast, she could hear and influence her garden as she used to on Aiaia. Despite the warning of the storms, she ventured outside daily. The upgrowth of the blue lilies and the ringing of electricity fascinated her. They had been gathering around the edges of her land, sprouting where lightning hit, so similar to the stories her uncles told about the battle between gods and Titans. Where their blood had spilled, flowers followed.

She could remember reflecting on this before the air tingled around her. Her hair stood on edge and then everything was dark. When she came to, Jon Snow was standing over her. There was a familiar ache, a burning that she hadn't felt since her father's anger. Oh gods! Was she turning to char again? She touched her face, feeling for scars or burn. "What happened?"

OTA (Circe's House):

Mortality was a frail, fragile thing. When her father had let his heat nearly burn her to ashes, all it had taken was a simple salve and a few words of power for her brother to heal her completely. Now, she was reduced to lying in bed and waiting for her body to recover. Every small movement ached and her heart thrummed heavily in her chest. It was still beating. It was a consolation in the face of everything else.

Despite orders to stay in place, she often wandered outside to her garden, casting an eye to the sky. The storm was still fierce, Zeus was raging in the clouds. It wasn't difficult to determine where she was when lightning had hit her, a patch of blue lilies now growing over the charred earth. "Does my blood give them magic now?"

markwatney

WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: 6I Inn front lawn
WHEN: 21 June 2018, afternoon/evening and onward
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
NOTES: A few thinsgs: You may assume your character helped set up; There are tubers in pot with the red salt, negating the warmth effect; The list of of potluck dishes is here; The list of local provisions is here

The weather is great, the sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, and it's pleasantly mild. Time for an (extremely) old-fashioned low country boil.

We've got two small fire pits built out in front of the inn, each with a massive pot filled with loads of vegetables — corn, carrots, potatoes, onions — and of course the rainbow crabs Finnick and Annie discovered not long after we arrived here. We've even got salt, if you can believe it, although the red salt in this place is pretty spicy and usually makes me sweat, so I've only put it in the one pot, and then set a bowl of it out for garnishing.

Tables and chairs have been brought out from inside, a couple of them set aside specifically for piles of plates, bowls, cups and whatever potluck provisions the rest of the village brings.

noctyourking

WHO: Noctis Lucis Caelum
WHERE: Fountain & Surrounding area
WHEN: 6/13 evening
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: n/a

The weight around him pushed at his body and caused him to jet up toward a distant light. He felt the pressure of the pool around him and he found himself frightened of the depths. He was in deep. The familiarity of this came rushing through his head and a false sense of clarity overtook his mind as if his life flashed before his eyes and all he had lifetimes of opportunity to resolve every problem he’s ever had. All of this miniaturized within that small amount of time. Then a realization of I want to live overcame him and his feet kicked at the density and he reached for the light. Though he ascended the depth he felt a sinking sensation that he was swimming in the opposite direction of where he truly wanted to go.

The brighter the light became, the shadow behind him felt darker––though he couldn’t see from his angle, a feeling coiled around his lungs as if the pull of the depth was reaching back out to him, wanting him to turn around and face the darkness. Yet he continued to fight against the pull and soon, if barely soon enough, he broke the surface with a fast gulp of air. He barely managed to find the ledge of the fountain and once his arms were linked over it he took a moment to continue his gasping and groaning for breath. For a quick minute there, he didn’t think he was going to survive this pool.

Fighting for his life was about all he had time for and once he was secure enough in his being able to breathe he recognized the fact he had no clue where he was nor how he got here; let alone at the depth of the pool.

Thirty minutes later he was still at the fountain, although outside of it, and trying to piece together how he’d come here and what exactly he was wearing, and had on him.

He had on a pair of teal scrubs and a teal hat and had a bag, that came out of the pool with him, of what looked like a well packed overnight bag. This was not the afterlife. But it sure did appear he was delivered somewhere!

Wet and uncomfortable Noctis finally decided to drift away from the fountain to peer around, maybe he can find a map, a sign, a door, or something that would lead him to sense.

pharmakis

WHO: Circe
WHERE: The village, the woods
WHEN: 6/3
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of mortality and death

The Village

Fear was rare in the gods and it was always over the unknown. For Circe, the moment that fear came to her was not when she climbed out of the fountain and found herself in a different realm, it was when she heard the sound of her heart and felt blood racing through her veins. Mortality was a concept she had thought of and considered, but never experienced and not in such a jarring way. It was almost as though she were living Glaucus' tale, she fell asleep and was changed. But she knew the reason behind his transformation. Had she done this to herself?

As she had when she arrived on Aiaiai, she had needed a day to curl in her room and let her fears pass before she explored and accepted her home. This was no difference. She disappeared after her arrival, preferring the woods to the village. She had found a mossy bank surrounded by strange flowers, wrapped herself into a ball and slept.

When the morning came, she was dry, the strange bracelet was still on her wrist and she could still hear her heartbeat. This wasn't a dream and she couldn't allow herself to cry herself until she became a tree or stone. Resolved, Circe pushed herself from her hideaway and trailed back towards the village. There was more life now, something that she hadn't seen the night before. There were animals, the sound of others working and mortals tilling in the fields.

She watched at a distance for a time, trying to decide whether this was some set prepared by the Olympians or some new punishment devised for her by the Fates. Had Aeetes cast some spell? It seemed unlikely and her intuition said no. With that simple reassurance, she pushed herself to find an empty home, assuming that it was for them to choose, ready and prepared for them. There was one near the riverbank that she liked, close to what looked like a Mill.

It was empty and dirty, unlike the mansion she had been given during her exile, though this meant little. It gave her something to focus on instead. She pulled her pant legs up to her knee and tied her hair into a loose braid, ready to work. The rooms needed dusting and there were paw prints from animals, she would have to find something to hunt the predators (as well as provide company.) Much of the plumbing was foreign to her, but that didn't matter in the moment.

She took the linens from the bedroom, washing them in the nearby river. There was a stone she could use to beat the sheets with, but this needed someone else to help her lay out the linens against larger stones. She scanned the path, curious and hesitant. Still, being shy and hanging her head would do her no good now. Summoning that same courage her powers had given her before, she called out to a passing mortal. "Could you come help me?" Not a demand, that was where the gods would mock her. "I need another set of hands if I hope to get these dry before the sun goes down."

The Forest

Her second day in the village was to clean her home, the third was to rebuild the garden that she had left behind in Aiaiai. She hadn't taken the time to explore the woods after she arrived, wanting to rest and let everything sink in (though she still had no answers). Most of the plants in the village gardens and fields were familiar to her, as hundreds of cultivating them allowed. But there were different flowers and vines in the forest that she didn't recognize. They didn't sing to her as her garden had, another unfriendly reminder of the magic she had lost. The creatures were different as well. There were no boars or wolves to keep her company, only strange amalgamations of two different types of animals. It left her questioning whether this was Zeus' personal playground, the place where his monsters could grow, but that seemed unlikely.

There were hostile creatures and others that were hesitant, but a few friendlier animals approached her. By the time of late afternoon, she had found a small collection of beasts to take back with her. Something that was pink and resembled a type of sheep, an animal that jumped as high as a goat but looked close to an elk, a weird crocodile/dog mesh and a cat with peacock feathers. They regarded her in different terms, but they were enticed enough to follow, both by treats, kind words and simply curiosity.

With a full basket, she was nearing the forest's edge, animals in tow. It was only the sudden snapping of a branch that nearly made them all disperse and run back into the wild. "No, don't be afraid!" She turned, dropping her basket as she knelt to try and lure them back towards her. "It's only a mortal. There's nothing to fear. They won't hurt you." She looked over her shoulder towards the figure. "Stay still. They don't know to trust you yet."

pretendtoneedme

WHO: Anyone not whisked off on a Glorious Adventure
WHERE: The villages
WHEN: May 10th and the days following
OPEN TO: Everyone still "at home"
WARNINGS: Please put triggers in the subject line if they come up!

For some people, it's noticeable: other members of the village community suddenly not where they'd been working beside them a moment before, in the hospital, the inn, or out in the fields getting them refurbished after winter. For many, it's not - not until their attention is drawn to it, anyway, by absences at meals or other villagers running around looking for the missing. But on the tenth, twelve members of their little tribe have suddenly vanished, too many to be accounted for by the random disappearances they're all familiar with and undoubtedly part of something the observers have planned. What it is, no one knows, and it's easy to wonder and even panic if more people would disappear, and if they did, who would be next. Questions are asked, plans are discussed, and speculations are made over the next few days as the missing begin straggling back to the village. It's another demonstration of the lack of power over their own lives that many people didn't want, and not an easy one to swallow so soon after the last one.

At some point during the first day, part of the chalkboard that had been moved to the inn has been erased and a new message added:

HAVE YOU SEEN THESE PEOPLE
SEEKING INFORMATION

Below is a list of names that anyone can add to if they find a friend, loved one, or relative has vanished. Some have added names next to the missing to show who specifically is looking for this or that person or who to bring any discoveries to. It's an imperfect system, but at least it gets the word out.

((OOC: mingle post here to ask questions, search for the lost, discuss plans for finding them, look after their animals, panic attacks, whatever you want to do! Feel free to go nuts and have your kids put on their shiniest tinfoil hats to speculate what the hell is going on here.))

sixthiteration

WHERE: 6I Inn > Outside
WHEN: May 2, beginning late morning
OPEN TO: All - Mingle
WARNINGS: Badger violence?
NOTES: DETAILS | ASSIGNMENTS
Anyone may jump in as long as they don't step on the assigned roles!

The day began as innocuously as any number of others in the village: The roosters crowed, the sun slid lazily over the horizon, and the local denizens went about the typical steps of their day. As the morning wears on, more and more of them make their way to the Inn — Several to assist in the preparation and serving of the daily community lunch, some simply early birds looking to get in ahead of the rush.

It all seems entirely normal, or at least as normal as any day gets in a place like this. Unfortunately, unwelcome visitors don't always come with a warning, and this one doesn't even bother to knock.

sixthiteration

WHERE: 6I Inn
WHEN: Morning, 18 April
OPEN TO: ALL - This is a mingle post
NOTES: Details may be found here

In the often-bustling front room of the inn there sits a large, old-style chalboard on a wooden stand. Chalk is a precious commodity, but limestone can be found easily, and both sides of the board are often covered with notes and notices from villagers.

This morning, the board has been wiped clean and a much different message has appeared on its worn gray surface:

Jude Sullivan and Francis Mulcahy have been exposed to toxic spores and will slowly drown if a counter-agent is not procured.

A yellow lichen is needed. It only grows on a small stand of trees in marshland two days to the southeast. There is no other antidote.

The following people have coordinates for the lichen loaded into their wrist devices. Only they may retrieve it, and only if they work together. If anyone else attempts this, the expedition will fail.

Peggy Carter
Beverly Crusher
Jean-Luc Picard
Owen Prichard
Margaery Tyrell
Mark Watney

Hurry. Soon it will be too late.

sixthiteration

WHERE: Lawn in front of 6I Inn
WHEN: Morning, April 5
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
WARNINGS: n/a

The day dawns bright and just a little cool, soft mist rolling over the distant mountains as the forest stretches and yawns in the breeze. It's another beautiful morning in this new-old village, just waiting for its inhabitants to begin filling it with the work of the day.

But this day, there is a surprise. A gift, if you will, not unfamiliar to the old timers, although they know too that sometimes these gifts come with strings.

On the lawn in front of the 6I inn, all of the tables, chairs and even the bar has been moved out into the breaking sunshine. A breakfast feast has been arranged, tables piled high with every imaginable delicacy and comfort food of a certain era: Muffins, toast, coffee, fruit, pop-overs, crumpets, lamb chops, porridge, hot chocolate, biscuits, and every kind of egg, just to start. Even the bar is stocked for those itching for mimosas, mint juleps or irish coffee.

Of course, anyone who has spent time in the wilderness can tell you: In a place gone wild, it's only a matter of time before the scent of food draws in unwanted visitors. Eat up while you can, villagers; you may be sharing your plate soon.

[Please read details here!]

tooktheblack

WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: woods; inn
WHEN: 4 March
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: TBD

As the weather had been a bit milder these past few days, Jon had taken the bow and been ranging more than he had when the snows were thick and coming down on a regular basis. It was easier to find game when fresh shoots were pushing up through the earth and there was one clearing in the forest that was especially good for hunting; deer liked to gather around a small pond and drink and it was easy to bag at least one before the others scattered in panic.

One buck would be enough to feed people for several days, even if the whole village ate from it, and while he still hunted birds and the like it was a good target to have. Approaching the watering hole, he nocked an arrow in his bow and aimed, only to be startled out of the shot by being in Winterfell again.

Winter is here.

Sansa looked at him with grim determination, the girlish features of her face hardened now into stone. She'd gone through so much in the last several years, changed so much, and yet beneath it all she still had what made her a Stark. He was a Stark too, he guessed, after having been crowned King in the North but he didn't feel it. He would never feel like a true Stark in these walls.

When he came free of the memory, the arrow was lodged in a tree and the deer were gone. He headed back to the village empty handed and went to get something to drink. He wished it were ale, considering, but it was only tea because they had nothing stronger. Why would that have felt so real? Why would he be standing on the battlements at Winterfell with Sansa - a Sansa that was older than the one here? It made no sense.

"Something queer is going on in this place," he said, speaking loud enough to be overheard by anyone else who might be walking into the Inn. "I've never had a vision of home before."

minus1twin

WHO: Wanda Maximoff
WHERE: All over the Village
WHEN: January 15th (After the snow storm)
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: N/A (please label any warnings in headers when they come up if they do.)

Wanda was happy to see the last bit of snow fall from the sky. She had nothing against the snow or the cold but she could only spend so long cooped up inside. There was work that had to be done now that the blizzard was at it's end, however, work wasn't the first thing on Wanda's mind as she stepped out into a world of perfect white.

She recalled what Raleigh had said. At the time, her memory had been lost but she remembered now, like he was standing next to her speaking into her ear. 'Even as an adult stationed up in Anchorage, we'd blow off steam having snowball fights. You ever do that? Duck and cover, try to see if you could get someone more than they got you?'

Wanda looked down at the snow and smiled. They all needed to blow off a little bit of steam. She gathered the snow in her palms as she made her way towards the inn, looking for unsuspecting victims to pull into her game. She waned everyone to play. They all needed a little bit of fun.

[ooc note: this is an open log for a large village snowball fight that Wanda is going to start. I'll be tagging everyone with her but feel free to post a header and say that Wanda dragged your character into the game. I'm good with assuming anything so that everyone can get involved! There might also be a puppy following Wanda, giving away her position if you want to nail her with a snowball :D]

littledhampir

WHO: Rose Hathaway
WHERE: Fountain. ???. Inn
WHEN: 16th - 19th
OPEN TO: Open To All: As for arrival things, happy to play either the actual coming through the fountain or if you’d prefer to handwave that and have had your character take in a drowned rat for a night? I’m down.
WARNINGS: Detailed below because there’s potentially quite a few...

A NOTE

The following may contain references to suicide, death, kidnapping, drugs (in the pseudo sense), biting/blood drinking and other hideous things you’d expect when referring to a character who has been held against her will by a stalker/vampire. Most of this isn’t likely to be openly discussed, but could still come up in the body of a tag. If you’re canon blind and are curious enough to want a little context as to what Rose was doing before arriving in 6I. You can check this out. Just be aware it contains… all the aforementioned trigger warnings.

Fountain

November 16th

( And everything will escape, and I'll know )

???

November 17th

The light that attempted to tease her eyelids open was Rose’s only proof that she hadn’t dreamt her escape. The painful ache of every muscle in her body, further proof she hadn’t dreamt what had led to it. Fragments of memory tried to push their way to the forefront of her mind but the unfamiliarity of the bed she found herself in was a welcome and comforting change. She wanted desperately to cling to that illusion of safety, even if that made her an idiot. The only thing that mattered was that she’d escaped. That she’d ended it once and for all. That she was no longer the personal chew toy of her murderous ex.

Like trying to return to a dream after consciousness began to creep in, the more Rose tried to suppress those memories, the easier they came back to her, flashes of unfamiliar faces taunting her as the warmth of the bed became a point of concern. She’d been wet, waterlogged hair and clothes plastered to her skin, the weight of a backpack threatening to drag her into an icy grave.

“Stay back!” The sound of footsteps drawing near, interrupted her spiral of thoughts, Rose gritting her teeth against the throbbing pain of her ankle as she bolted upright and pushed herself back against the headboard, instinctively reaching for the first thing she could get her hands on.

“I’m armed.”

Words that would have been menacing if not for the fact that her weapon appeared to be a pillow.

The Inn

November 18th & 19th

Having spent most of her life in the mountains of Montana, you’d think Rose wouldn’t have an aversion to the cold, but after arriving in a fountain in the middle of an ice storm, exploring this place while e that was still raging outside, was the last thing on her mind. If she were smart, she’d be taking the time to rest her ankle and allow herself to recover but smart just wasn’t a word that many people would apply to the brunette in question.

Exploring the Inn was something she could manage, even if she was struggling with putting one foot in front of the other and she can be found snooping through various parts of the place, even areas she probably shouldn’t be. Rose is not the most social in circumstances such as these; in a foreign place with a bunch of strangers she’s not sure she can trust and while she needs help in understanding her situation, she’s really not big on the whole, asking for help thing. She’s not even good at the whole, letting people help her thing either so that’s hardly a shock.

She is a new face and despite the dark cloud that comes with feeling uncomfortable and unsure of this place, she at least manages not to look like she’s about to start a fight with somebody. Unless of course, she catches you staring at the wounds on her neck.

sixthiteration

WHERE: 6I Inn
WHEN: 10 November, all day
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE POST
NOTE: Details can be found here.

In the wee hours of November 10th, before even the earliest risers have roused themselves for another day, items begin to appear in the front room of the Inn. Decorations first — Boughs of autumn leaves in their reds and golds, wreaths of dried flowers and silken ribbon, flickering candles among the goards and berries and acorns. The food arrives next, the decadent aroma slipping up the Inn stairs to tempt those lingering in bed — Every imaginable harvest time delicacy, from roast turkey and ham to smoked salmon and oysters; fresh, soft bread warm from the oven to plum pudding and ice cream. And did we mention pie?

Once again, it's time for a feast. The bar is stocked, the coffee is brewed and the tables are groaning with food. Indulge, there's more than enough for everyone — That is, if you don't lose your appetite worrying about what it will all cost.

thekittenqueen

WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: Bungalow #4
WHEN: First few weeks of Nov.
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Visions, illness, memory loss, pain

The last she could remember was being in the fields during midday. The sun couldn't push away the frost and chill, the harbingers of winter's approach. Despite this, the animals were happy, the newly born nannies bounding over the dried grass. Her cow lulled against the growing wind, filling the day with the noises that brought her a measure of peace and contentment. She could recall a flash of blood, the taste sudden and sharp on her tongue. All at once the world flashed a blinding white as her mind felt as if it was ripping apart at the seams. Then there was nothing at all.

When she woke, she was in bed, the sun apparently rising. The hows of returning home seemed insignificant compared to the question of how many days she had been unconscious. Someone had carried her home and for an unknown amount of time, she had slept. Her mouth tasted sour and a waste can was by the bed, smelling of sick. Though she couldn't remember it, she knew that she had stirred only to empty her stomach and then returned to her sleeping coma. Her head didn't just ache, it hurt. Light, sound and taste all mixed to create an unbearable agony. She moaned softly as she pressed her hands against her head, trying to dislodge the pain.

There was someone else with her, seated by the bed, but their face was unfamiliar and shrouded in early morning shadows. She felt as if she knew them, their name so close at hand but lost among everything else. When she could manage to open her eyes, she stared at the person, uncertain and with no recognition in her eyes. "I...know you?" It was a question, not a statement. Everything had disappeared, only the frightening images that lingered in her head and a pain that was enough to make her wonder why death did not come.

Without another word, she turned to the side of the bed and shuddered as she vomited once more.

tooktheblack

WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: 6I village, at Lucrezia’s Home
WHEN: 26 October
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: tbd

Jon had made a habit of going to see Lucrezia daily when he went to visit his family and when he didn’t see her for two days running, his heart sank like a stone. It wasn’t like her to be out often; she usually kept close to her home or to the inn and to not see her at all for two days meant that surely she must have gone.

The evening of the second day confirmed his suspicions completely. Her cat mewled and yowled, wandering about the steps and of Lucrezia’s porch seemingly in search of his mistress. It took Jon a moment to actually get the cat to come close to him but once he coaxed it near, he gathered him up into his arms.

“Barnabus,” Jon said quietly. “I fear she’s gone and left us both. No amount of looking is going to bring her back to us, all right?”

When Ygritte had disappeared, Jon had searched for her in the woods for days and only when he’d exhausted every hollow and dale that he had declared her truly gone. When Arya had gone, he‘d done similar.

Now, though, he simply felt hollow and empty. He’d lost another person he had cared for in this place and there was no telling who might be next. Would it be his Lord Father? Would it be his sisters? His brother? Lyanna? Jon hoped not.

Armful of cat, he walked past the home his family lived in and down the road toward the inn. Possibly there was a bit of milk or something he might be able to give the cat so it would stop yowling for the time being.

the_scandal_of_italy

WHO: Lucrezia Borgia
WHERE: Outside #27, Night
WHEN: 10/19
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None I can think of.

Amy's absence was sharply felt the evening after she had gone. The quiet of the night had never sounded so ominious or sinister, even after her arrival to the village. Bringing Amy to stay with her had been more for her benefit, but it had combated the loneliness that Lucrezia felt every night. Now, she was more accuately aware of how isolated she was and how unprepared for the world.

Somehow, being inside was worse than stepping out into the night air. There was at least space and the sight of numerous homes, reminding her that she wasn't completely alone. Wrapping herself in her cloak, Lucrezia sat on the stairs of her porch, staring up at the stars miserably.

There were so many of them and the were so bright. Perhaps Amy was on one of them now in her strange box and with her husband. It was all she could hope for for her friend.

There was someone else in the night, which set Lucrezia on edge. The sun had long ago set and this was normally the time for spirits and demons. It wasnt much of a comfort to remember this was another world. For all the strange things that happened, there had to be demons. She pulled her cloak tighter and rose to her feet, facing towards the dark figure.

"Who's there?"

tooktheblack

WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: woods; House 25; weirwood (locked to Starks only)
WHEN: 18 August (plague prompt); early September
OPEN TO: all; weirwood prompt locked to Starks only
WARNINGS: usual sad bastard warnings.

a. bring out your dead

It had only taken a few days after visiting his lord father for Jon to fall ill and he tried to ignore it and push past it as much as he could. He did what he could to keep going, to maintain his routine, but after three days he fell to the fever and the rash and took to his bed.

Jon couldn't ever remember being ill like this. Once, during the False Spring, he'd fallen ill with a flu that all the rest of the Starks had fallen ill with one after another in succession. While Sansa and Robb had the touch of Catelyn Stark to soothe them when they thrashed in the sheets, Jon only had broth from Old Nan and the fevered dreams of a boy who wanted his mother more than anything. He wanted his mother to put cool cloths against his forehead and to brush his hair back from his brow.

His mother never came.

Now, as a man grown, he wouldn't do anything so weak as beg for his mother but he did, in passing, wish to be put out of his misery a handful of times. He hoped that none of his other siblings had fallen ill with this and that only he and Father had gotten it. Perhaps the girls and Robb had been spared and Jon would be better in a few days. Didn't it pass? All things passed in time.

So, for the first time since that illness as a boy, Jon Snow took to his bed and didn't rise for a week.

b. but i'm feeling better!

After laying in bed for a week and a half, Jon finally felt well enough to venture out into the woods. His traps were all a loss, considering they hadn't been checked while he was ill and he spent a few hours redoing the lot of them. It was tedious work, yes, but he was just glad to be out of his bed and moving around again. He hadn't been the best patient while he'd been ill and he'd been really glad to be out of the house; he had the idea that he'd spend the whole day out of doors if the women in his life would let him.

Once he'd reset all of his traps, he took one of the bows to actually hunt, feet silent against the leaves. It was times like these that he missed Ygritte. For all that he was good with a bow, she was better, and she could shoot further and cleaner than he ever would. Still, he had a duty to feed those in the village and he wouldn't manage that if he was lost in a dream of days past. Seeing a rustle out of the corner of his eye, he nocked an arrow and let it loose, pleased when it struck a grouse. It'd make a fine dinner for someone, whether it was his family or up at the Inn.

c. you have found...the shrubbery!

The weirwood was still a tiny thing but even as a sapling, Jon knew what it meant. He occasionally said prayers in front of a heart tree for his family who hadn't come here to this village - for Bran, for Rickon whom he knew was dead and gone. He said them for Catelyn Stark, that his siblings might have their mother again. He said them for Ygritte, for the brothers he'd lost at the Wall and the brothers who had betrayed them. It was a time to think and reflect, to remember the Old Gods and the First Men and how they'd given rise to the man he was today.

It seemed so far away from him now, the snows of the North and the battle that they had yet to fight. There was a war to wage against the dead and yet he was here in a place that was summer-green, a place that winter lasted only a few turns of the moon before it became spring and then autumn. It seemed like madness that seasons would last only a few moons' turn but he guessed for those not from Westeros, the opposite must seem true.

He knelt for what felt like an eternity, his lips moving without sound escaping as he gave his prayers to this fledgling tree in hopes that House Stark would take root here in this village and be strong once again.

catchallthecats

WHO: Arya Stark
WHERE: Village outskirts/Forest, Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: During the plague event, backdated
OPEN TO: Village section OTA, Cabin section open to Stark CR
WARNINGS: blanket warning for violence/death chat because it’s murderchild with no filter.

Village outskirts and the forest, OTA
It was no new thing, how Arya all but seemed to vanish when she really wanted to, the only sign of her existence anywhere the fact that her chores were still being done. But she’d seen the illness that seemed to be flying around, and with how off she was starting to feel, she knew it was better to avoid others in order to minimize the risk of spreading it to others. So instead of seeking out one of the rare people she considered a friend, or any of her family, or lurking near the fountain, she spent her day exploring the forest, a satchel slung over a shoulder for anything interesting she found, though her attention was more on finding the kind of trees she remembered as being good wood for things like bows. She’d not made one herself, but she’d seen plenty in the process of being made, and felt that if she was careful, she could possibly manage to teach herself to make one with minimal waste. Given how few bows there were, it would certainly help to have more, and even if they weren’t strong enough for proper hunting at first, they could be used for teaching others how to shoot.

Others might spy her picking her way through the woods, or near the outskirts of the village on her way back. Still alert though she was still paler than usual aside from the red flush of her cheeks.

Stark Family Cabin, Closed to Starks and pre-existing Stark CR
Arya might not have gotten this bad if she’d rested herself when she first became aware she wasn’t well. But then she’d never been one to fuss, had counted on youthful health to help her through, at least until now. She hadn’t even managed to get out of bed before the way the world seemed to spin had her on her back again, kicking away blankets in a vicious if uncoordinated manner as if they were responsible for the boil of heat that had seemed to settle over her like a pall. The only sign beyond her bedroom door that anything was wrong today would be that none of her chores were finished.

As the morning drew on, she hadn’t left her bed, only tossing and turning in some attempt to find relief from the fever, or the itch of the rash that had crept up along the side of her neck over her collar. Sometimes she managed to catch scraps of sleep, the only real relief to be found at this point, but even that didn’t help. Not when she started to wake disoriented, too delirious to realize where she was, or what was going on. In the state she was in, it was probably for the best that the illness had sapped her strength enough that she wasn’t about to go wandering today. The vehemence she sometimes called out with, the way her hand reached blindly for weapons that weren’t there was hint enough that had she the energy for it, violence would be had.

((ooc: If your character wants HORRIBLE MURDERCHILD TRUTHS in the cabin threads, let me know! Otherwise they’ll luck out and find her in the midst of a childhood memory or something instead.))

learned_to_die

WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: The Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: August 15 and onward
OPEN TO: OTA; feel free to jump in at any point during his halluciations.
WARNINGS: None; will updated as needed

It had started with redness of the skin, first on Ned's hands. It spread like blood-red ink across the paper of his skin, up his arm towards his shoulder, down his back, around his torso. It made decades'-old battles scars scarlet and renewed, the pain of touch excruciating, as though the wounds had only just been made. And then, the heat. At first, he thought it a continued byproduct of the summer temperatures, but it was the absence of perspiration that had drawn his brows together in confusion and realization: he had gotten ill.

Half a fortnight later, having spent the majority of the time bed-ridden and unable to leave the confines of his room, the visions had started.

He’d first seen his siblings’ faces: Brandon, Benjen, Lyanna. He imagined Brandon’s death, simultaneously feeling the constriction of his airways as Brandon tried to rescue their father, and wakes to a coughing fit while gasping for air. Benjen he imagined in black, half-human and half-crow, taking to the skies and soaring back to The Wall. Lyanna, he had seen bloodied and ghostly pale, her trembling hands leaving crimson paintings against his skin with every touch, while the rage and pain and impending loss stormed within him.

Second, Robert’s face - glossy-eyed and slender, the way he’d been when they’d grown alongside each other under the care of Jon Arryn. He imagined them wandering the grounds of the Eyrie, practicing their fighting with one another, Robert daring him to draw closer and closer to the Moon Door. His half of these fabricated conversations are audible to anyone near enough - even through the closed door of his chambers. None of it makes any sense, especially out of context, though it’d be easy enough for someone familiar enough to surmise that Robert was on his mind.

Next, he’d seen visions of Catelyn at their wedding; the hatred and betrayal in her face when he’d revealed to her that he had returned from war with a dark-haired babe in tow, a newly born Robb still in her arms, which she clutched tighter to her breast; the way she’d peer up at him as they lay under their furs and in each other’s arms with only the soft glow of the fire as their audience; when he’d last seen her, outside of Littlefinger’s brothel in King’s Landing, the blue scarf wrapped over her fiery crown. He reaches for her, when he imagines her with him, hands and fingers fumbling in the air for a woman who no longer exists.

Then, he’d seen each of his children at varying stages of their lives, from birth to the last he’d seen of them: Robb at Winterfell, when Ned had left for King’s Landing; Sansa when he’d knelt at the steps of the Great Sept, silently praying for her rescue; Arya when he’d spotted her in the crowd, crouching by Baelor the Blessed, doing the only thing he could to keep her safe by signaling Yoren to take her into his custody; Bran, unconscious in his bed, unsure if he’d ever open his eyes again; Rickon in the yard at Winterfell, too young to understand the weight of the world and his father’s departure beyond a glaring absence; and, though not a child of his own creation, Jon at the crossroads to King’s Landing and The Wall, promising to tell him about his mother upon their next meeting. These memories are strong enough to make a weakened, unwell Ned weep, crying out for the family from which he’d been taken, his feverish mind no longer remembering he has four of them still with him, whether by fate or by the blessings of the Old Gods.

He floats in and out of consciousness, back and forth between the world of Westeros he’d left behind and the world of the village - his second chance - though he cannot seem to convince himself that the latter exists. He wonders if he’s returned to the Children of the Forest, to the Old Gods themselves, to the Weirwood back in the Godswood of Winterfell. All the while, the skin affected by the rash blisters and reddens, leaving smears of blood on the linens underneath - though, if there is one light in the darkness, the intensity of his hallucinations seems to negate the pain from the rash, and he seems blissfully unaware of the sores.

guessihavelostcount

WHO: Claire Bennet
WHERE: By the breach (small earthquake plot)
WHEN: August 3rd
OPEN TO: Jon Snow
WARNINGS: None at the moment

While they were nowhere near as strong as the original earthquake that rocked the village, Claire was still wary of the smaller ones happening but not enough to stick close to home. There were things that needed to be done and she knew it wouldn't matter where she was if another big earthquake happened again. It was just one of those things that you couldn't escape when it came.

So she decided to spend a day exploring the second village that had been found. She had left a message for Margaery and Erik at her place if either one of them decided to look for her and then off she went. Yes, she probably should have actually gotten someone to tag along with her but she didn't think too hard about it as she made her way through the tunnel.

Of course, she started kicking herself mentally when the first tremor rolled through the ground as she reached the other side. It was enough to make the world tremble around her, causing her to stumble and nearly lose her footing. Catching herself, she felt the trembling get worse and silently marveled for a moment at the noise it created. Not that she stayed still for long. She recognized the danger she was in if she stayed where she was and so she threw herself forward, running without hesitation out of the breach into the other village as the earthquake got worse.

Nearly falling, she whipped about just as she heard rocks falling behind her and watched in horror as the breach actually started to crumble in on itself.

Sixth Iteration

Logs

Entries tagged with asoiaf: jon snow

Credits & Style Info

(no subject)

The Wrath of Zeus

[MINGLE] Crab Boil

°–oo1–°ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ☽

" I closed my eyes. If I had been a mortal, I would have heard the beating of my heart."

And Every Stranger's Face I See Reminds Me That I Long to Be Homeward Bound

[EVENT - MINGLE] Badger Havoc

[MINGLE] Color Coordination: The Announcement

[MINGLE] Breakfast Feast

we know no king but the king in the north (ota)

009 Snowball Fight [OPEN MINGLE LOG]

001 ][ One of these days the sky's gonna break

[MINGLE] Harvest Feast 🍂

"I'm Cursed"

🍂 autumn fades

"Vale Mi Amice"

wear it like armor [open]

Who am I, what's inside, that's causing this malfunction

[no amount of remembering the better things will make the bad ones go away]

(no subject)