059-061 » the place where you stop the story

[villagemod]

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central/Southern Mathias
WHEN: Day 059-061
WHAT: Time returns to "normal" and Mathias grants a reprieve.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here! The next log will be posted the weekend of May 15th May 22nd.

RECOMMENDED ♫ Nathan Johnson "Foul Play"

DAY 059-061
A BRIEF REPRIEVE
“There is no real ending. It’s just
the place where you stop the story.”
— Frank Herbert
Residents awake to a peaceful morning with the sun shining and earth remaining still. There is no unsettling shaking to rouse them at dawn, and time has continued moving onward as they slept. Whatever state they were in the night before, they remain that way now, for good or for bad.

On the surface, there seems to be little lasting effect on the tiny town from that strange series of days, save for the memories of any traumatic experiences residents may have faced — but there are always consequences within Mathias. The perpetrators of acts against the town are tormented by nightmares of those acts being used against them, and those who did not raise a hand to stop those acts of destruction may yet face consequences of their own. For now, however, the unwilling townspeople should do their best to rest and recover from the disturbing ordeals of late, for this reprieve from the madness shall surely be shortlived.




THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the beach near The Grey Gull. It's a bit chilly out with their wet clothes, but surely there's something to help warm them inside the restaurant. They may even find some alcohol within — and not just the cowboys' homemade moonshine.

---

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— THE HISTORY MUSEUM has not fared well with the return of "normal" time. The once esteemed wooden building is now a charred ruin, the recent fire leaving behind little of the contents within for study. The structure is unstable and it is not wise to venture into the ruins for long.

— THE WEATHER conditions remain fairly typical for early fall: warm days and cool nights. It feels almost like spring arriving except that there fewer red and orange leaves on the ground and more of them oddly returning to the trees and slowly fading to green. It's like watching one of those nature documentaries that have a timelapse of the seasons, only it's going in reverse.

— THE FOG has retreated from some areas!

— Residents may now wander the southern stretch of the forest surrounding Mathias Township — it is possible to leave the paths but potentially unwise to do so.
— The fog has also retreated farther into the western section of town, now stretching across town between Stine Road and Shelley Drive. This has revealed the Chasm in the earth that stretches from one side of town to the other between Stine and Hill Lane.
— Access to the northern section of the forest is still blocked beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline; this section of fog will urge residents to stay huddled within the town proper by inducing a physical reaction of panic and fear.

— DEATHS & DISAPPEARANCES continue! Max Guevara has vanished into the fog. Claire Novak's body can be spotted on Day 059 facedown at the bottom of the Chasm between Hill and Stine, near Phillips Drive; by the morning of Day 060, her body will be gone. (Attempts may be made to reach her body but will likely not end well for those involved. Such attempts should be reported under Exploration.)

— ALCOHOL is still in Mathias! Just barely. (Supply is running very low after recent town events.) A small stock of beer and cheap wine may be found at the General Store, and some homes may have a small store of alcohol in the fridge or pantry. The Grey Gull was also restocked with its lower-end offerings of a variety of alcohol types. (Alcohol does not replenish as food does.)

---

OOC NOTES

— PROJECT HELP Your mod needs help with some projects!

— FUTURE PLANNING If you haven't, please answer the questions here for future log planning. I will almost definitely need some of these answers for the log going up the weekend of May 15, so act quickly! Late submissions will not be considered for that log.

— UPDATES Don't forget to report updates as they come up! Changes to locations (like toppling a few bookshelves in the library), big plots you have coming up that will affect the game (parties, major property destruction, etc), or exciting discoveries that may tie into the game's mythology (even the things provided by the mod) are very helpful to have in one place so relevant page updates can be made.

— MOD STATUS The usual reminder that it's just Amy steering this ship, so things will are going to be pretty slow for a while. Apologies in advance, and please don't feel shy about pestering me if you're stuck waiting for something.

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Comments

[skladka]

Fantasy. The jab is met with a blank stare, the quickest way to hide his annoyance. It's not this man's fault, the Darkling at least realizes, but it doesn't make it any less grating. A lot of things have been grating on him--even before he washed up on the shore, stumbling his way into the Grey Gull for some moonshine and a warm fire.

He can't gauge anything properly yet, but he does take in the other's look: the too long clothes, untailored and seemingly indifferent, comfortable, clean, impossibly blue eyes. There's a spark there, some glint of sharpness, something the Darkling finds he can at least appreciate.

"Kirigan," He introduces, and after his eyes rake the other over he turns his gaze to the shelf again, noting the accent. "America?"

[abrightboy]

"New York, to be precise," Malcolm responds. "Where are you from?" He could make a guess, but it was better these innocuous sorts of questions to ease into a conversation.

[skladka]

New York. The Darkling's seem to glint as he listens, his face carefully impassive. Similar to the New England he's heard of, he assumes, and judging by his accent it's another American. He makes a mental note to look for an atlas in the bookstore--perhaps when they've stopped sizing each other up?

"Ravka," he says, and his face pulls into a thin, unamused smile. "I imagine you've not heard of it." Admitting someone most likely has no clue where he's from is far harder to admit than he cares for. His gaze is purposely on the corner of the other's mouth so his eyes don't narrow like they want to.

"How long has it been for you? Since your... arrival."

[abrightboy]

“I haven’t. Where is that? Eastern Europe?”

At the question, he considers that.

“About a month and a half? Time is weird here.”

[skladka]

The Darkling's eyes are back on Malcolm's impossibly blue ones, shaking his head. "No. A far cry from your America. Or your world, if everything is to believed." His lips thin, clearly unamused at the situation.

"Ravka is a country. A large one." The word large isn't emphasized by speech, but rather by a pointed look. The other would have heard of it if it existed, and while that's no fault of Malcolms, it's grating to the shadow summoner.

But enough of that: "Time is weird? How so?"

[abrightboy]

“There’ve been people here from other worlds,” Malcolm tells him. “But that information does give the cape some context,” he admits.

At the question, he considers his words.

“Clocks can’t stay in synch. And it’s hard to keep track of the days.”

[skladka]

Cape, he says, and the Darkling's face pulls into a smile that's anything but pleased, eyes narrowing somewhat. He's not hostile whatsoever, but it's clear it's not the first time someone's spoken offhandedly about his appearance. It's also clear it annoys him.

"A kefta." It's a gentle correction, despite his look. The coat is an elegant thing despite it's battered and torn appearance, clearly once far more impressive, the black on black embroidery still fairly immaculate.

Not a cape, Malcolm.

"What other worlds?" Ravka is a country, after all--but perhaps there are people from Wandering Isles, or Kerch, or Novyi Zem. He'd even take a Fjerdan.

[abrightboy]

"I don't remember what they were called," Malcolm admits. "I'd never heard of them. But it's not unheard of, is the point. You. Um. Speak English," he points out.

[skladka]

"Or you speak Ravkan," he counters gently, and he's curious to try to switch over to Old Ravkan just to test the limits. The books are forgotten now, the fairytales a passing thought: this man has his attention now, with his bright blue eyes and strangely round face.

"Though your accent leaves much to be desired. Too harsh." And not in the right aways, the Darkling wants to add, but he doesn't. Instead, he breathes out through his nose.

"English. New York. Have you known others also here, before you were pulled from your place?" Perhaps he's related to Mr. Givens and Tim.

[abrightboy]

"My sister is here," Malcolm reveals. "But she arrived after I did." He watches the man's face a moment. "You've met people here already that know each other from before. Alec and Eliot? Tim and Raylan?" His eyebrows arc faintly. "Tim and Raylan."

[skladka]

A sister. Interesting, and it means there's hope for him--perhaps another Grisha would make their presence known. He's foolish enough to spend his energy on nothing but hope, but the fact that there's a possibility of someone he knows waking up here is comforting. Ivan would be useful. Or Fedyor. Knowing his luck, the village will give him the little tracker boy instead.

The Darkling stills for a fraction of a moment, head canted marginally to the side. Alec and Eliot are two he has no clue about, but the others? He nods, not bothering to hide the fact that he's slightly impressed.

"Yes. A lucky guess?"

[abrightboy]

"More like deduction," Malcolm tells him and leaves it at that, unless he asks after it further. "Have you found somewhere to live yet?"

[skladka]

"So you're the clever type." His voice still has its ever-present softness, and while there's no edge, there's something else. Calculation, his dark eyes glinting slightly.

Maybe this little village isn't entirely doomed.

"I haven't, no. It seemed more pertinent to gather information first." A beat. "Wouldn't want to choose a house only to get it swallowed up by a chasm or set on fire."

[abrightboy]

“You’ll want to find shelter before dark,” Malcolm advises him. “It’s... not really safe after dark. Especially alone. If you just need a room for the moment, there are some at the Boarding House that aren’t in use. You know. So you can choose a house based on prevailing disaster patterns.”

[skladka]

"And what happens after dark?" The Darkling's interest is piqued, looking levelly at Malcolm, even in tone and posture. It's good information, but he still can't figure the other out--not entirely--and he usually has a good read on people within the first few minutes.

[abrightboy]

“Bad things,” he says with vagueness. “Sometimes fog. Sometimes invisible monsters. Sometimes.... noises that you can’t find the source of.”

[skladka]

The Darkling cocks his head to the side.

"Is that the reason for Mr. Givens' scars?" he asks, noting the invisible monsters. A curfew in need of being punished? That's all this was? He thinks for another moment.

"What is it about the houses that make one safe at night? Wood and stone are wood and stone."

[abrightboy]

His face answers the question about Mr Givens’ scars, but he doesn’t say it.

“Light and warmth. And, if you’re lucky, other people. Not that any of those things saves everybody,” he admits.

[skladka]

"And you speak from personal experience?" The Darkling seems interested, gaze sharp, eyes dark.

[abrightboy]

"I've buried some people here," he tells the man. He points in a vague south-easterly direction. "At the edge of the treeline you can see the makeshift cemetery. Some people come back, though. But not all."