event: a gentle web

[thestewards]

I've lived a lot of different lives
Been different people many times
I live my life in bitterness
And fill my heart with emptiness

► The OOC plotting post for this event can be found here.

► Direct all questions to the mods at this link.

► Characters can speak with Fayura or Verim in response to her request or her web. If you would like to speak with them, please add a prompt to your top-level or as a comment to your top-level. A thread with Fayura can be requested here. A thread with Verim can be requested here.

STRANGER SUMMONS
In the morning
You wake to a feeling of unease. It’s not the room, which is comfortable and well-appointed, if plain—much like the guest room of a hotel. A note rests on the nearby bedstand, inviting you to breakfast with Queen Fayura, her court, and the Strangers who make their home with her, and it lets you know you can ask the many footmen in the twisting halls of the Queen’s Residence for directions.

That isn’t what leaves you uneasy, no.

There’s a strange flavor in the air to those both new and already present. Some of the Strangers who have been in Draega for a month or more will recognize this unease as the psychic flavor of the Queen’s emotions. Fayura’s dark presence fills the residence, and while it is normally calm and steady (if a bit wrinkly around the edges, like an exuberant young woman rumpled from her activities), now it is outright unsettled. Because her presence is so strong, because it permeates the very rocks of the bizarre building, it changes the mood in air.

Breakfast is lean: little more than thin porridge, glasses of milk and water, and carefully rationed cups of fruit preserves. The Queen’s Court, those of her First Circle, look wan and hungry. There is as much unease between them as in the air.


In the afternoon
Around midday, a psychic call touches the minds of each Stranger in Draega. Fayura’s mental presence slips along your own, quietly seeking permission to speak to you mind-to-mind, and when she has it, she says: Come straight to the Residence if you are not there already, close your minds to every thought but the beacon I leave for you, and speak with no one, not even your friends.

The beacon is a mental loadstone calling you to the Queen’s Residence. When you arrive, you’re ushered not into the Great Hall, but into a little used room. Here, the Queen holds formal court, something she rarely does.

Though witchlight and candles fill the room with light, a psychic darkness creeps across the floor. Tendrils of ice fill the spaces between the old, hardwood floorboards. Frost spiderwebs across windows and over the walls. In spite of this, the room itself doesn’t feel cold.

At the end of the room, the Queen of Hayll sits on a simple stool. Gowned in black spidersilk, she looks like midnight come to life. To her right stands a frame two feet by two feet: a tangled web simply woven. At its heart sits a Jewel chip. Should you probe it, you find its color and rank difficult to determine. Red, but not. Something darker, something strange, something that isn’t quite right. Her Consort stands just behind her, his golden eyes glazed.

“A coven of Black Widows has come to my city,” the Queen of Hayll tells you once all the Strangers are assembled before her. “They broke a young girl who had the potential to be a Queen when they tried to kidnap her last night.” A wave of fury ripples through the residence, something dark and dangerous—a dull roar from the abyss in the mind from which the Jewels’ power springs. “I have never directly asked you to put your lives in danger, but I ask you now: find these Black Widows. Bring them to me or bring them to Grand Master Niall or Lord Grejor, whomever you trust more to mete out justice, but bring them.”

She gestures to the web beside her. “A Black Widow rarely shares the webs she weaves, but I will share this one with you.”

Fayura's web Trigger warnings: mental assault against a child
Webs of dreams and visions are not concrete things. To weave them, a witch steps to the side in her mind, looking through the veil of madness to read possibile futures. But Fayura’s web doesn’t tell of possible futures. It recounts a single past, a vision pulled from walls that echo with a child’s agonized cries of pain and fear.

Three spiders crawl through the night. They chitter and clamber. They weave their wicked webs in dark corners of the city, ensnaring minds. They search, they search, they look, they seek, seek, seek, probing dreaming minds, peeling back shields around vulnerable minds, tasting the air for the earthy flavor of a Queen. (this one this one take this one to rip and rend)

They find her— is that her? —a girl that is a Queen but a girl who is not a woman— too young to have her adult strength it makes her sweet so sweet —young enough to be woven into a new shape— CON­SUME HER DE­STROY HER

They sing to her from the Darkness, but she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t want to leave her dreams or her family her home this place this city it’s not dark but it’s Dark and it feels right and good there’s more right and good in the Darkness than in the dark corners and she fights and she pulls and she won’t go, she won’t, and she—

White
Yellow
Tiger Eye
Rose
Summer-sky
Purple Dusk
safety that's safe
it's safe there it is
it's safe it's safe
it's safe it's safe
it's safe it's safe
it's safe it's safe
it's safe it's safe
it's safe it's safe
it's safe it's safe
it's safe it's sa

She flees into the sanctuary of her mind, where the Darkness is a caress around her. She plummets past the White and the Yellow, and the Black Widows give chase, thrilling to the scent of fear.

One peels off with a shriek of rage.

Deeper, darker darker, where the abyss is quieter (quieter still deep below in the frigid depths of the BLACK and she reaches reaches for a presence deep below her) and full of Summer-sky power—she can’t go much further, her web is made of Purple Dusk, but the other doesn’t slow. The little girl slams through the web of her mind, shattering it, collapsing the abyss with a scream of power, flooding her body with more power than it can contain.

The spiders withdraw. Their prey is no good to them like this, but maybe they’ll feed on the corpse of her mind later, filling it with nightmares until not even the Black Widows of the Lady’s court can piece the little girl back together.

beneath them far beneath them a quake of power a profound fury a silent song of rage and sorrow that spirals and shivers

TANGLED WEBS OF FEAR AND LOATHING
This Black Widow coven has left tangled webs throughout Draega. These webs snare the minds of light and dark Jeweled Blood and Strangers alike. In many of the webs, the mind of a captured victim assumes an active role within the vision contained inside the web, forcing them to live through the vision. Landen minds can’t be trapped by tangled webs, but their moods and actions are certainly affected. Until the webs are cleared, they will radically alter the behavior of landens throughout the city, twisting their behavior.

Fayura has tasked you with not only finding the members of the coven but with removing the tangled webs the Black Widows wove throughout the city. The events in the web can be changed—much like with lucid dreaming, you need only realize you’re trapped within a tangled web to change the course of its vision or to escape it, and then, when you understand it, you will be able to destroy it.

A Web of Violence Trigger warnings: female on male rape, sexual violence, impending death

run

run

run

RUN

breath burning run faster faster legs aching heart hammering pulse pounding throbbing throbbing throbbing

She’s behind you, you know she’s behind you, hungry for your body and your mind, but you can’t slow down. Your sister, you think about your sister, who just barely wears the White. You need to be there for your sister. She could be a Healer, she could be more that what the Blood have become, she co—

An acrid psychic scent hits you, sour and sharp and seductive. You want her and you hate her as her power slams into your back and throws you into a wall.

A second later, she’s on you, her nails ripping through your skin as she tears off your clothes. You try to shield with your Purple Dusk, but she’s stronger than you. Shields shred like butter beneath her hands. Skin parts and opens and burns. She jabs the snake tooth under the nail on her right ring finger beneath your skin (the rough edges of all her rings cut into your bleeding flesh, and you scream before she muzzles you with an aural shield) and pumps poison into you.

Your panic spreads it faster. You feel the poison in your limbs. You’re going to die. You know you’re going to die. She’s climbing onto you, and you’re going to die like this.

A Web of Desire Trigger warnings: dubcon, sexual assault, assault, sex work, abusive relationships

You were pretty, once. You paint your lips with red paint made from the venom you milk from your snake tooth during your moontime, and you smile. Your face is hazy in the mirror, but your lips are red red red (he wears the Red, and one day, he’ll see how much you love him and he’ll love you, too) and males love red lips. Red mouth, red body, red between your legs when they ride you too hard.

You were pretty, once, but that doesn’t stop them from pushing you down. You watch the ceiling as they pant and groan and heave above you. This will keep you safe. This will keep you alive and fed. There’s nothing left in the wilderness except dead, dry desolation. Same as the desolation inside you. You’re not a Queen, but you feel it, too.

You were pretty, once. You remember what it was like to smile and watch a male’s blood drop from one head to another. You remember the power you had before they used you up and left you dry, before they wrung the joy from loving someone else. You love him, and you wear him close to your heart.

You were pretty, once, and then you told him no, not tonight. You were pretty, once, until he held you down with Summer-sky power. You railed against the Darkness for letting him be just one rank darker than you as he took your beauty from you. A blade over your eye and down your cheek. Sharp edges in your arms, across your breasts, cutting new roadways of pain all along your abdomen.

You were pretty, once. With red, red lips and a smile that drove males to their knees before you, but now red repulses you and your love never came for you. But in this memory, things are different. You are not you. You are someone else, and you can escape the one who wants to cut you.

A Web of Innocence Trigger warnings: domestic violence, violence against women, blood, implied medical torture

You’re five years old, on a ship that rides the waning waters of the Heartsblood River. Your face to the wind, adventure on the horizon. Papa calls out to you, and you turn, running barefoot across the deck to him. He holds his hands behind him, and you jump around him to see what he hides. A shield hides your prize, but Papa is kind, and once you close your eyes, he puts something soft and warm in them. You cry out with delight, opening your eyes: a stuffed animal in the shape of a puppy. From Draega, he tells you, where the landens make amazing things.

You’re 12 years old when you meet him. He’s landen but he’s smart and he makes you giggle and blush, and you give him the stuffed puppy you’ve cared for all these years and he gives you a blue ribbon. You wear it until it falls off your wrist, and then you go back to Draega and buy another.

You’re 20, at the altar in Draega. You want to wear the Sapphire, because Sapphire reminds you of the landen boy, but no one gets Birthright Jewels that dark anymore. Still, you squeeze your eyes shut and hope and hope and hope and hope and pray and pray and pray until you bite your cheek and taste blood. A wish offered with blood is a prayer to the Darkness. That’s when you smell the smoke. You know you should run, but you have to finish your Birthright, you have to succeed, you have to complete it, so you struggle and struggle and struggle. The fire takes your eyes but you take the Sapphire.

You’re 21 and you’re with him now. Your family disowned you, but you don’t care. At last, you’re happy. “Can you tell me our future?” he asks, and you weave a web that shows you with two Sisters but no husband. You lie and tell him something pretty.

You’re 27 years old, reading fortunes not just for your husband but for the hypocrites among the Guild. The Guildmasters come to your husband in the dark and pay him for your visions. He trades the money for drink and comes home stinking of alcohol. Even their Grand Master comes to you, the young prodigy they all adore. “Tell me how to ensure the Blood don't destroy the landens,” he tells you, and you give him a vision of Ebon Askavi and a song that resonates deep within the mountains, growing louder with every passing year. He strikes you hard across the face, but you know he’ll go to the Black Mountain within the year.

When you’re 29 years old, your husband drags you to the Medico Guild and leaves you there. “Weave, little spider,” their Guildmaster says, and you weave because they hurt you when you don’t, turning on their muters and cutting into your skin to see what color you bleed. You weave and weave and weave, pressing deeper and deeper into the sanctuary of your mind until at last you break yourself when you drift down below your inner web.

You’ll kill them all one day. You’ll leave them broken on the floor, eternally sleeping in puddles of their own blood. But you need to find a Queen, and the Queen you want is here but she isn’t ready, not yet, so you’ll wait ten years or find another. You’ll make her understand, you’ll make her see what you no longer can.

AIR TIME
Whether you catch the news on a Far-caster in the city or you're spinning the dial on your own device, you'll hear…

etiquette with evandra and aren
[Today, Evandra speaks softly and slowly. Sorrow thickens her throat and stretches her words into brittle filaments.] How do landens deal with Black Widows, Lord Aren, when even the Blood can be destroyed by them?

[Aren, too, is quiet.] Trust is—

[Evandra, sharply:] The Blood always speak of trust! What good is trust so often broken?

[Aren stumbles over his words.] I… that is, as Blood, we… We rely on Queens… [He trails off.] You are right to be furious. Nothing can be said that repairs a shattered mind.

the weather
[A soft-spoken man’s voice rumbles out of the Far-caster. He’s pleasant to listen to, with a soothing cadence to his voice.] …flooding along the banks of the Heartsblood River to the southeast. The river walk will be unsafe for the next week, and pedestrians are advised to take great care if they want to walk it. Interested in sailing? The Transport Guild…

the news
[Garret speaks with his usual briskness, but his temper snaps behind his words in a way it never has.] The Ebon Council and Guilds have spoken out against Queen Fayura, demanding to know what use a Queen can be if she can’t keep “undesirables” out of the city.

[Wilt sounds hollow.] While the Ebon Council demands the Queen's Court do more to guard the city’s gates, the Guilds have announced their intention to build a large-scale muter that would suppress the power of the Blood within a two-mile radius of the city. A spokesman from the Tinker Guild says they’ve already begun work on this device.

[Garret:] Indeed. The Strangers’ support for the Guilds the past few months…

Comments

a web of desire (locked to close CR; CW for extreme canon assault)

[theladyofwinterfell]

( Sansa has devoted herself to helping Fayura and her Court in any way she can in the past two moons she's spent in Draega. She's spent days in the poorer parts of the city, helping to cast warming spells in landen houses. She's helped negotiate between Blood and landen over both food and politics and when the Queen asks her to help dispel the webs left behind by this coven of Black Widow witches, Sansa volunteers.

She only wishes she'd realized how dangerous it would be. Thinking there would be no physical harm to her person, she'd not hesitated to volunteer. It's only when she's trapped within the web that she sees that it's not a physical harm but a mental one; Sansa's mind is her treasure and as soon as she touched the threads of the web, she'd become paralyzed with fear.

It starts with someone else's face, someone else's body, but it twists until it's Ramsay wielding knives and Ramsay smiling his slick, evil smile. She hears the knives sharpening against leather, hears him laugh when he says he'll make her a good wife who does her duty for her husband. She doesn't want to be Reek, does she? Oh, oh no. There's only parts of her he needs and he takes glee in dragging the point of the knife between her breasts and curves it around to come dangerously close to a nipple. He thrusts his fingers into her, dry, as he debates whether or not she needs both breasts, if she needs all of her toes. Sansa hates giving him the dignity of a response and she doesn't when he's atop her, doesn't when he seeds her.

She screams and nearly bites her tongue in two when he draws the edge of the knife along the curve of her left foot and she swears that he likes this more than he likes anything else. His cock no longer makes her react but his knife does and he threatens to plunge it in her after she's given him the son he needs. Sansa wishes he'd just do it now and end this. )

No...Ramsay...no...no please...I've been good, I was good, I'll never run, I'll stay here with you, I'll never run.

( He reminds her that she did run, though, ran to her bastard brother at the Wall and fled from him before he could give her his son. He tells her that she'll never run again as her feet are slick with blood and tells her that after he fucks her he'll let the whole Bolton army have a turn - the lowborn and the highborn - and that every man and boy from the Wall to Moat Cailin will have their turn in Sansa Stark and for each bastard she bears him, he'll take away something else she loves.

It goes quiet, though, as she goes away. She goes away inside her mind where there's snow falling and her family lives, where she never went south and never thought to marry a king. The snow swirls, White and Yellow, Tigers-eye and Rose. Sansa falls as the snow goes Purple Dusk all around her and stays but there's claws of Opal beneath it, Opal too deep for her to touch. What if she went there? Would Ramsay be gone there, deep in the Opal? )

[garmr]

_-nsa..^Sansa-

[His voice is a distant echo. With it comes warmth in the snow. The comfort of furs and wool cloth against an icy wind. The pleasant heat of a sunny day breaking through the chill of winter. The flicker of campfires - numerous enough to look like stars in the sky. The dance of happy company, enjoying the fleeting joy of victory with each other. An attempt to beckon her away from the claws.

The Opal-tinged snow contrasts by growing hot, seething, like a cooking plate getting too close to the hand. It is a molten crucible. A bright inferno. Tongues of dark hellfire. Half a web shield and half a blunt instrument of will, trying to pull her away from the precipice. As much as fire can warm, it can also warn of impending danger. Guts can't say he's good at gentle applications of Craft, but his message is clear: Turn back. Stay the hell away.]

Sansa!

[mollymocked]

[Molly wears such a dark Jewel that these webs have seemed such paltry things, but he's gotten caught in them too- just the once. Once was enough. He fought his way out of it and has only grown more irritated at the concept. This whole mess is a disaster and it was bad enough when it was him.

Now it's someone he cares for.

The world goes green, springtime trying to peak through the snow. He's becoming a fair hand at shields and that's what he offers first. This is too delicate to just rip down.]

Hello, darling. [There's a relief when he feels like the shield is working, keeping her safe in a bubble of hastily manufactured encroaching spring with all the warmth and promise it contains.] Can you hear me, Sansa?

[thricefold]

[ oh sansa.

zita is quick to use her magic upon realising who this web belongs to — her jewel is green and she’s an experienced witch. she’s lived decades upon decades and seen - and done - so many things.

but this? this breaks her heart a bit.

so she uses her magic, tries to alter the world to be a bit kinder, a bit more lenient on someone who clearly has been through a lot. trees - were there always treets? did zita conjure them up? it's hard to say at this point - begin to bend low, shielding sansa from view. almost as if bowing to her and to assure her that nothing will find her now, that it's safe to stay here, to not run off to somewhere dangerous.

it at least gives zita enough time to make herself known. stepping through the curtain of leaves — the colours flickering from the trees' natural red to an unearthly green upon her touch, as if recognising her strength and her power — zita's eyes quickly land on where the young woman is still standing. the relief on her face is undeniable, as is the sorrow. ]

Sansa— It's me. [ she moves closer, her every step causing the snow to scatter a bit, to show hints of green peeking through the ground. ] —Will you allow me a minute with you? Can I have a minute with you?

[whettedmind]

Sansa?

[Worry renders Tyrion's voice sharp. He can feel her tumbling towards the Opal, and it's all too easy to see the tragedy of the young, Broken Queen playing out again, cruel and senseless - and a small, hard part of him wonders if that was the entire reason the Strangers, foreign and thus expendable, had been dispatched to deal with the traps seeded throughout Draega, before he banishes the thought as useless in this very moment, something to be examined later.

He's had little chance to learn finesse with the Craft, and even if he had, the sort of lessons that might be afforded to a newcomer from an alien world as unlikely to cover this particular eventuality. But he has basic competency, and shields are - thank the old gods and the new, and the strange Darkness these people worship - certainly that.

He forms one now, shaping it within the snowy, dreamlike cold to resemble the Wall, the clearest marker he can conceive of a boundary not to cross, beyond which lies only ruin. It's been years since his one ill-conceived visit to the place, but some sights never fade in memory.]

Sansa, can you hear me?

[sinistral]

[The Lady had asked for help in dispelling the webs, and Bucky sees the importance in the work. But he also sees the danger, the potential of becoming tangled or trapped in the mind. He knows too well what that’s like and while he does his share of hunting Widows and webs alike, he seeks also to keep an eye out for those he’s seen about the Residence. The Strangers as they seem to be collectively called, and members of the Lady’s court; Bucky’s Jewel is on the darker end of the spectrum, and that should make him a strong asset to any caught within a web, or such is his understanding from what he’s learned thus far.

It’s as he’s out in the city that he sees (or feels; had the feeling come before the sight, or is the sight not only that which comes from his eyes?) someone caught in such an entanglement. His approach is slow, both physically and psychically, meant not to startle, and he tries to keep his voice calm.]

Breathe. Close your eyes and listen to my voice only. Breathe.

[He’s not focused right now on who he’s helping, on how much an invasion of privacy this feels. Those thoughts can be addressed later; for now, safety is of the utmost importance.]

[sunborne]

i;; get your bearings.

[ well. the web was an experience. that's all daylight can find himself describing it when it's all said and done, his processors reeling and his core spinning almost too wildly from its own good.

daylight leaves the room, almost stumbling but not quite. if anything- he's clearly determined, clearly ready to try and tackle what's been placed ahead of them all. if he was left shaken from being drawn into the web, daylight can only imagine the terror the young girl must have felt when forced into that.

that bit is what upsets him the most, however. daylight is unsure of what to do, what to think when he mulls over the information. he knew that the city was, um, volatile in a lot of ways he isn't used to. but for a group of adults to harm a child so badly...

he wonders what his parents would do. what his friends would do. he would give up a servo and then some if he could get their advice or even some assurance that he's got this because, right now, he doesn't feel like he's got this. not when his processors are reeling at the ramifications that have occurred.

the first thing he decides is to slide up to the nearest stranger and gauge how they're doing. he's not exactly subtle with his height and colour but there's no mistake in the concern in his face, the worry that seeps through him- he wants to make sure the others who experienced the web are doing okay. ]

Hey... How are you holding up? Need anything?

ii;; not into the parlour just yet.

[ when called upon to look for the coven who did this to the young girl, daylight is all gung ho in tracking the black widows down and bringing them to justice. his conversation with fayura was an informative one, allowing him to mull over the angles he could tackle for the assignment.

the thing that stuck out to him the most was the fact webs could be found around almost all of draega. a lot of webs too. so someone must have seen someone making those things. dragea strikes him as the type of city that never sleeps, so somebody knows something. he just needs to find a way to get people to start talking.

he thinks he's found a possible lead to follow after some (careful!) snooping around the most web-choked areas and use of his avaform. but, like all good things, there's a catch to what he needs from the folks and that catch requires a bit of help.

hence him approaching the nearest stranger he can find, hoping they can give him a hand- ] Hey! Hi! Can we talk? This is, like, super important! I swear!

iii;; all hands on deck. (network option.)

[ some time into the investigation of the black coven, certain folks might be getting this message, wether they're meant to or not: ]

Hey! Sorry for the sudden message and all but hi. I’m Daylight, just in case we haven’t met and stuff. (And if we have and this is super redundant and stuff - Sorry! It’s been a hectic few days. @ w @)

Anyways - I heard from others that you were also looking into who could be part of the Black Widows coven. Do you wanna, like, compare notes and stuff? See what we have in common?

iv;;; wildcard!!

[ want to do something else? feel free to do it here! also, you’re welcome to hit me up/plot with me via my plurk prognostic if there’s something specific you want. ]

ii

[arrogator]

What is it?

[She's honestly not in the best mood right now. Or anything approaching anything close to any sort of tolerable mood. She's pretty furious about this whole mess and wanting to go out and drag the culprits back here in whatever sorry state they're in by the time she's done with them. But she'll listen for now.]

Important or not, make it quick.

iii.

[kesi]

what have you discovered so far daylight

[Straight to the point. Takame was not in the mood for pleasantries or wasting time in this situation. Or punctuation. He needed information.]

[unwieldy]

I. CLOSED to jonathan.
cw for bullying, violence against a minor.
[ The first time Haein comes across a tangled web, he isn’t careful. He slips into it, his mind easily ensnared with how unprepared he’d been, and he finds himself somewhere else, in a memory that isn’t his.

Five years old. Papa calls out. Haein turns, but the man is a stranger to him. He doesn’t have a father, doesn’t know what’s like to have one, so where does this feeling of delight come from as the man places a stuffed animal in his hands? He’s five and the web twists. Someone is pushing him to the ground, and he feels his palms scrape against asphalt as he catches himself. He doesn’t bother looking up to see who had pushed him, keeps his eyes trained to the ground as the other kids laugh and walk past him, calling out taunts that make tears burn at the corners of Haein’s eyes. He doesn’t have a father. He holds the tears back. He’s five years old and he’s too old to cry.

Twelve years old. Haein stares down at the blue ribbon on his wrist as he thinks about the landen boy. His cheeks feel warm, and then it shifts to a stinging pain. He holds one side of his face, his gaze vacant as he stares at nothing while a man screams down at him, his hand raised for another go. You fucked it up! You fucked everything up! The man’s face is a horrible shade of red, his eyes bulging from his head, the veins on his neck straining to burst. Haein is twelve years old and he’d fucked it up indeed, mangling the man’s wish to harm the woman he’d been sleeping with to protect her and her unborn child. The world is full of monsters and they teach Haein how to hate with everything he has.

Twenty. He can’t breathe, the acrid smoke choking him as the fire licks away at him, burns his eyes. He’s in so much pain he thinks he’s going to die. Tears stream down his face, and he can’t remember the last time he’d cried this much. He gasps for breath, but it gets stuck in his throat. Haein had thought he could trust Hyunseok. He’d been happy for the first time in a long time. They were supposed to be friends. Maybe... maybe even something more. Something one-sided on Haein’s part. But Hyunseok had betrayed him, accepted that cursed talisman, and used Haein like everyone else had used him. He’s twenty and his heart, which he’d thought had been absent before, breaks. He leaves it that way.

Twenty-one. He’s happy. No, she’s happy. Haein is twenty-one years old now and he’s the furthest thing from happy. He pushes against the tangled web, tries to call out for help. This isn’t his. He can’t be here anymore. ]

II. TANGLED WEBS OF FEAR AND LOATHING.
[ He's more careful this time. His hands shake with the memories of his first run-in with these webs, his skin sickly pale with the shock of it all, but he can't let that stop him. Having seen what they can do, having experienced it, he knows he can't just hide away and hope they disappear on their own. They need to come down. All of them. It's a bitter, hostile resentment that has him working to pull down as many of the tangled webs as he can.

His anger drives him to seek them out and destroy them. They've shaken him up something awful, memories both unfamiliar and too familiar assaulting his senses. It had been an invasion of his privacy, an attempt to make him vulnerable, and they'd done it. Haein who keeps his personal matters locked up, who shuts out everyone and everything, had found himself exposed and helpless. Unacceptable. How dare they.

As upsetting as the news had been about the broken girl, it paled in comparison to Haein's own selfish feelings. So he works with an almost obsessive fervor to find the tangled webs, and doesn't shy away from pulling in other Strangers to help him remove them. ]

There are two here. Get that one. I'll get the other.

III. WILDCARD.
[ come at me with anything else you can think of and i'll get right back at you! ]

[championbittersweet]

He's more cautious, familiar with this place and how easily it seems that the webs can catch and twist around the unwary, trying to remember Lady Fayura's words of caution in the past to prevent himself from rushing in with a burning rage to find who has done all of this. So when the web wraps around him, Jonathan allows it, letting his anger simmer and reminding himself he needs to understand what he's facing and how to destroy it. He braces himself to recall that the visions are not his own when he finds himself watching the scene instead of living it.

He doesn't recognise the boy at first, his expression creasing into a frown at the laughs of others, cruel and terrible, and then the ringing slap against an older boy, barely in his teens and--

He knows that face. The realisation freezes him in place as they jolt further forward again, the boy turning to the man he knows before his eyes and he can feel the betrayal in the air like a palpable force, pain and broken trust, and Jonathan reaches out with a growl and grabs for the younger man's shoulder.

"Haein! Listen to me!"

( prompt ii. )

[thricefold]

Alright. [ because what else could zita say? she isn’t sure what caused haein to carry such a fervour in this mission of theirs. he's usually so dispassionate about things - deliberately so - and so this change is worrying. she has no clue what's happening here.

well. no. that's not true. she has an inkling of an idea, with how he goes for the webs, attacking them with a ferocity usually reserved for enemies. she has an idea but she isn’t sure of the details. and he'll probably want to keep it that way too.

so zita makes quick work of hers. though this falls on a more offensive side of magic she's not used to, this is something she's becoming alarmingly adept with as the days had done by and the webs linger in the city. she unweaves the threads that make up the webs of the black widows. she easily untangles their magic and their memories, spooling them high into the air until they were only remnants and remains that left a bitter taste in one's mouth. ]

... I think those are the last ones of this area. [ she pauses with her words. perhaps she realises that if there are no more, there's a chance haein will simply move on and try to batter down the rest of the webs before recuperating from the use of the craft. ] Maybe those are the last ones.

Would you like to do a round here, to make sure none are lingering?

[strikingtwice]

Stranger Summons - Morning
The moment that Meallan wakes and realises that this isn't his chambers, he's up and out of the bed, checking that his things are still here, that the window is open and a possible exit if he needs it. Then he calms enough to look around more carefully, taking in the note and trying the door to ensure it isn't locked. He can't shake the feeling of unease, however, and creeps out of his room on silent feet, scanning the hallways and rooms before he enters. The fact that no attack comes does little to put him at ease and, when someone else appears unexpectedly, he starts and falls back in preparation for combat, palms outstretched and his left glowing faintly green.

"Who are you? What is this place and why was I bought here?"


Tangled Webs - Searching
All of this is a lot to take in, but it is far from the first time that Meallan has found himself thrown into the middle of a mess and having to adapt to it all as quickly as possible. He picks out the important parts first and decides to focus on them. There are people here that are have hurt and trapped others and placed traps around to do so again. It's important to find these webs and help destroy them and free anyone trapped.

It seems easy enough, although there's a faint sense of doubt and uneasiness that continues to tug at the back of his mind. He has to admit that he's not terribly familiar with what these webs look like or how to destroy them, half hoping that they're not too different from the webs of giant spiders and that a good bit of flame will help.

He's grateful that he's not alone in this, however; the Queen insisting that they travel in pairs at least and Meallan glances over at his assigned partner curiously. Maybe they know more about this than he does?

"Have you ever done anything like this before?"


Tangled Webs - Violence - cw: blood
Not knowing what exactly to look for, Meallan isn't entirely clear on the signs either. It strikes him as strange when he sees several Landen running from an area, one of them snarling and shoving at him when he tries to stop them to ask what the problem is. That makes it clear that there's a problem at least and Meallan darts and weaves past the running figures towards--

--away, running as fast as he can, legs aching and lungs burning with each gasping breath, his bare feet cut open by rough stones and sharp crystals of bright, bloody red catching and slicing through clothes and flesh, shining anew with his own bright blood. He knows this place, but the castle is twisted from what he remembers and red crystal grows from the walls, the ceiling, the floors, the flesh of the dead scattered around the halls. The doorways he expects are broken and caved in or overgrown, and Meallan can only run on and on, knowing that running cannot work forever. He can hear pursuit behind him as he bursts out into a courtyard, overgrown with thorns and twisted trees. The leathery sound of wings fills the air until the sound itself is a force buffeting him, throwing him against the sharp edges of this place and leaving him sprawled and panting on the ground. It's going to end like this, his racing heart seems to scream as a hand as big as his head, seizes him and lifts him bodily, he's going to die like this, alone and afraid and forgotten--

tangled webs - searching

[burn_with_us]

Katniss has been assigned in a pair with someone she doesn't know but that in and of itself isn't shocking. She keeps to herself, for the most part, and there's a lot of people in Draega she only has a passing familiarity with. The man she's with now seems steady enough, for all that he looks different from her, and she gives him a grim smile. The month or so she's been here has told her that nothing is what it seems and that this place is a powder keg that only needs one spark to blow.

"No, I haven't. We don't even have magic in Panem, so this whole place is foreign to me." She's wearing her Summer Sky Jewel and she hopes it's enough power to cleave through whatever web has been woven. She's angry that a little girl got hurt because of these Black Widows and it leaves a dark stab of hate in Katniss' scent; innocents should never be touched by war.

tangled webs-violence

[verstoned]

Perhaps Rhus has gotten soft in this world, or perhaps he's been away from conflict that he's far more suited for, but he's having difficulty with this new crisis. Compared to Eorzea, Draega can almost be called lazy, and this lack of exertion he was used to strains Rhus.

Physically and mentally.

He's distracted enough as it is with what's happening around him, a slightly familiar feeling of cotton bolls stuffed into his head as everything seems to be spinning, but someone bowls right into him and gives him an utter headache.

"What in the seven bloody fuckin' hells--"

morning, 3 days late w coffee

[kesi]

Takame's light steps could only be unexpected. They were to people who have known him for years, and they would be to newcomers of this land absolutely, especially with how heavy the air was on this morning. And this wasn't the first time since he'd been at the Residence that he'd been attacked. Or nearly attacked. The great unease permeating every ilm of the halls already made his hand hover much closer to his weapon than usual and it was only thanks to this Elezen-looking mage not attacking first and asking questions later that Takame didn't relieve him of his hand.

Indeed he had his blade half drawn more than content to run someone through before Meallan spoke. While there was confrontational intent still laden in Takame's eyes and his hand had yet to leave the sword's hilt, he responded.

"... A Stranger, or so we are called in this realm. Much the same as you, I imagine." He pauses, eyeing the man's hands with suspicion as if preparing for either a counterattack or a yield.

[yesterweek]

A. AFTER FAYURA'S WEB

[ Calvin has been pretty quiet all morning long, and while his initial emotion was a sort of quiet confusion his entire demeanor has slowly changed over the course of the morning. He's far from the only person in this room who is angry right now, and compared to a lot of people his anger seems pretty mild. He's not the type to scream, yell, and carry on with violent gestures in a rage, but at the same time he's not the kind of person who really manages to instill terror in someone with a silent fury.

Don't misunderstand, whether he's all that intimidating or not he is quietly fuming, his jaw clenched as he takes in the scene, the vision, the information he's given. He wouldn't consider himself a particularly noble guy, but he did help raise his three younger siblings. He has a soft spot for kids, and this entire thing makes him sick to his stomach.

He doesn't have much to offer in way of power, but if he can just help track down whoever did this...

Calvin approaches whoever is closest and doesn't look completely lost at how to go about this. ]

Any chance you know how we track them down?

B. AFTER A WEB OF INNOCENCE

[ The experience of stepping into someone else's vision was jarring enough earlier when he was expecting what Fayura had to show him, but it's more jarring now, especially with how disjointed the web is. Piecemeal bits of a life very unlike his own come to him, and while he feels angry about the injustice of it in the moment he experiences it all, when the visions fade the foreign experiences aren't hard for him to step away from.

This isn't his life. This isn't anything like the life he's lived, and despite the fact that he needs a moment to lean against a wall and catch his breath after all of that, the anger he feels begins to quickly fade, leaving him feeling sick and anxious as he straightens up.

If that was the vision of the Black Widow who did this...

Calvin reaches up to touch the white gem hanging off one of his ears, the visions of blue still swimming in his head as he scans the crowd in front of him.

Even if he's got a clue of the person who did this, even if he can find her, he's completely outmatched. He needs help, and the very first person he recognizes from being at Fayura's court he's making a beeline for. ]

Hey!

[ And a little louder now. ]

Hey hey! Hold up!

b

[championbittersweet]

[There's enough general unease and heightened tempers that Jonathan is certain that a web is nearby, but he's limited to the shadows himself and scanning the crowd for anything that stands out. The sun is past it's peak, but still bright enough to burn him even with Fayura's protection and the limit chafes at him.

He's relieved when someone calls out to him and he spots another stranger waving at him. They haven't spoken before, but he'll welcome any possible lead right now.]

Is something the matter?

bbb

[unwieldy]

[ The unfamiliarity of the webs as well as a general carelessness on Haein's part had really fucked him over. He'd fallen into one of the webs and quickly lost himself inside. It had taken some effort and outside help to free himself from the trap, but the damage his own memories had caused him still linger.

It's why he works tirelessly to pull down the rest of the tangled webs he comes across. He understands now how they work, and how to destroy them. He keeps a Purple Dusk shield close for protection, and tears them down one after the other.

He's so focused on the task that he barely registers the voice calling out to him, and when it becomes a little louder, Haein finally turns.

They have to stop running into each other like this. But unlike before, when Haein had been determined to be the biggest jackass in the history of ever to Calvin, he looks a bit distracted. ]

What is it?

( prompt b. )

[thricefold]

Calvin?

[ upon hearing his voice, zita immediately hands over her notes and books to the healer she had been discussing something with. the healer doesn't look all that pleased to be treated like this but they bow out of the scenario either way, giving a quick promise to see zita later if she had time. they can see she's clearly given her attention to the new face.

and zita likes to think for good reason. ]

Calvin— Are you okay? [ she looks so worried as she hurries to him as he hurries to her, her eyes wide.

the last few days had been hectic ones. chaotic ones. she hesitates only for a few seconds before reaching out to clasp his hands into her own when they're close enough, the concern radiating from her undeniable. ] Are you alright? Are you hurt?

[garmr]

For Zita & Lalli (cw; canon depictions of severe torture, violence, and gore)

[garmr]

[Guts is a mercenary, not a watchman, but hunting down the scent of a Widow is not unlike finding apostles with the Brand. Navigating the dark, tugged to and fro only by vague pains and tugs through the astral plane - that, he knows quite well. It isn't the most straightforward path, but he could tell when a scent was getting stronger. Couple that with some asking around, and with the aide of his companions, and they were soon on a solid trail through a decrepit quarter of Draega.

Solid enough, in fact, for him to move ahead on his own, only to be frozen in his tracks at what he was seeing through the alleyway ahead of him.

Between the stone walls, a withered shell of a man is sitting in a pool of water. He is barely more than skin and bones. His entire body is wrapped in bandages, hiding the flayed skin beneath them. His hands lie uselessly between his legs, with scars at the wrists where his tendons were cut. His head is encased in a thick iron helmet, hiding the disfiguring wounds that peeked through the metal eye holes. Parched lips mouth wordlessly, only be able to speak in tongueless, weak gasps.

The man's eyes are a brilliant blue, despite being weighed down by their deep sadness. Silvery wisps of pale hair fall over his eyes beneath the mask. They were last remaining vestiges of someone once incredibly proud. A miraculous person right out of a fairy tale. Now, he wallows in his squalor, utterly ruined.

Guts doesn't find himself filled with rage when he sees this, and he doesn't know why. All that pain and hate and dark anger inside him, and all he can do is stand there, dumbstruck. Despite everything, despite knowing this could very well be some witch's illusion, he can't stop himself from reaching out to touch him, to at least make sure he's not real.]

Griffith?

[Griffith looks even smaller with Guts grasping him, only able to meekly reach up to touch him back. Entangled in his limp, bandaged wrists is the round form of a Crimson Behelit. This egg-like stone was shifting, its facial features rearranging to form an unearthly scream of pure despair. As Guts sees the cursed artifact comes to life, an engulfing wave of blinding light seems to drown out the city around him, pulling his mind deeper into the web.]

Tangled Web - for Maellan (cw for canon violence, gore & bodily injury)

[garmr]

[The floor is cold - or, is it? It certainly isn't warm, but the temperature doesn't entirely make sense. Something in the air is wrong. Up and down exist in every direction. The impossibly linked architecture around you shouldn't be there. But it is. Perched among all those rows of impossible stairs are five figures - godly in the same way a deep ocean abyss could be considered godly - watching you and another pathetic soul ensnared here.

You're nothing but a squirming sacrifice.

A vortex of hands and bodies emerges from the swirling void to begin to drag away the decapitated head of the other soul. The only part of their body to make it to this realm.

The threads of fate have been tied.

You are lying on the ground. You can't move. Your fingers are twisted in ways they shouldn't be. The pain from broken bones lance up your body, but more than that, an inferno of hatred consumes you. It is focused entirely towards one of the figures in particular - you would do anything to give them an unspeakably painful death. With blood spilling from your body, you keep trying to move. Your sword is right there! Right within grasp of your teeth.]

"Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice."

[Visceral terror seizes your broken body.

The hands are coming for you now. Grasping your legs and lifting you up(?). The mark on the back of your neck bleeds and burns - yes, that's where you were branded - by them. And if you don't do something soon, you're going to be dragged into that infernal abyss, too.]

[verstoned]

a: fayura's web
[Webs are something he's already experienced not too long before coming back to Draega after being in the wilds, and he hates them already with a passion. Delving into someone's mind to ruin it is already something that should not be done, but that people could easily do this to a child... They're monsters, and Rhus already wants to rip someone to shreds, he needs to get his temper in hand.

He has to move to one side of the room and sits on the window sill. He might even brush against someone, or bump into them bodily.]

'Scuse me. I need to get to the-- bugger it, I need a window.

[With shaky hands, Rhus pulls out his pipe, lights it up and smokes as if his life is dependent on it. His smoke is fragrant and fresh, natural-scenting like leaves and grass... Unless one is an insect, or half an insect, of even any part of an insect, in which case it smells like the vilest poison.]

b: a web of violence (cw: blood, eye injury, abusive language)
[He should have known better than to come near a web so casually like that, but now he's trapped.

A fly in a web.]

[Blood drips down his face, his vision is blurry, a painful-looking gash bisecting his face, right eye red, blood running down his face.]

You're no longer desireable! That will NEVER heal and leave you an ugly, disgusting horror for life! [screams a woman with a kitchen knife in hand, blood dripping from the blade. She tries to swing it again.]

Without your beauty and your sight, you are useless to the house. Useless!

They'll throw you out like the beastly trash you are!

[The insults keep coming, the beatings don't stop. The cut heals, vision is restored, and gets ripped up again.]

c: echo in the mirror feat. fray (cw: potential violence/trauma)
[Rhus has been straining himself. One hand constantly clutched around the Jewels dangling from his large furry ears or the bracelet around his left wrist, he's been working himself mentally and a little physically, suffering headaches just to force his echo into working. He looks pale and tired, like he hasn't slept, and on occasion he reaches up to rub at a temple. Eventually he comes close to collapsing, ears and tail drooping as he rests against the nearest flat surface such as a wall... or perhaps even a person.

Like you. He might be able to tell the difference by feel, because his eyes are closed, but he's too damned tired to care at the moment.

But there's someone watching you too, and has been the moment you touched the Miqo'te man, or the Miqo'te man touched you. Someone in full black armour is watching from around the corner Rhus rounded from with arms crossed. With how they wear their clothing, guessing at their age or sex is impossible, and beyond the slit of their mask, aside from the pale yellow eyes, is utter darkness. Foreboding is one word for this person, even if they haven't done anything just yet but lurk.]

[ooc: this is the prompt for allowing rhus to peek into your characters' memories with the echo! and potentially meet fray, his shadow/id. the echo allows him to see someone's memories and with his jewel he's been attempting to do this on command. i'm also open to him accidentally sharing something of his past via echo as well, so we can play this hard and fast based on how you want it.]

wildcard
[MAKE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. my plotting post is here if you want to talk about it first.]

c.

[kesi]

[A similar fatigue, though less severe, was painted on Takame. It wasn't bad enough to be able to tell at a glance, only noticeable by how he twisted the ring hanging from his neck in his hand with each step, how he wouldn’t stay still even when standing idle, fidgeting with some part of his clothing or hair. He hadn’t completely overdone it, not yet, but he was pushing the limit of normal trying to force his power and enhance his sight to be most aware of the webs lingering about and the damnable women who dared to weave them.

It was on the continued hunt for one of them and obscured sight from clenching one eye closed in pain that he found Rhus bumping into him. Takame would have mindlessly brushed him aside to keep up the search had he not noticed both who it was and how he looked.]

Rhus? Seven hells... are you alright...? [Whatever pain Takame felt mattered little to him at this point as his priority shifted to keeping Rhus up, kneeling slightly to keep the Miqo’te supported along his shoulder. Before he could come to any conclusion, he felt the eyes of another on him and turned to see just who they belonged to.

Takame managed to keep Rhus up while also getting ready draw his weapon. He said nothing to whoever this was, but did not attack either. Only wordlessly threatening them, staring them down with a flash of bared teeth and a faint glint of his weapon reflecting off what little light the streets would provide.]