lethevale_mods: (Default)
Lethevale Mods ([personal profile] lethevale_mods) wrote in [community profile] lethevale2016-10-30 10:20 pm

{GAME OPENING} the old life blowing and roaring

Who: Everyone!
Where: The whole of Lethevale
When: October 31st, from mid-afternoon onwards
What: A storm, a town, and a beginning.
Warnings: TBC

The storm blows in apparently from nowhere, on a cold October afternoon. The bright autumn sunlight is blotted out within moments by thick, roiling black clouds, shrouding the mountains in shadow, and a cool breeze quickly becomes a howling gale. In Lethevale, and the countryside all around, windows are shuttered and lanterns lit, and townsfolk wrap themselves in blankets and huddle by the fire to wait out the storm. The inns set lights at their windows, and wait for a night's business - probably a poor one, with so many huddled in their homes.

Not everyone's so lucky. There are plenty of travellers on the road, and why not - until the storm came in, today looked set to be a fine day for journeying.

By the time the sun goes down, an hour or so into the storm, the lashing rain has become hail, stones of ice a good inch across thudding into the wet loam. Lightning flashes in the sky, and when the thunder rolls, it echoes against the mountains, coming back on itself over and over again so that it seems to last forever. This is no time to be outside. Better seek shelter, and company, if you're trapped out on the road.
whofrownedthisface: (the fuck is that)

[personal profile] whofrownedthisface 2016-11-12 05:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Look at them both, just a pair of intrepid travelers who definitely didn't jump a mile out of their skins in fright over a thunderclap. Stupid storm, it had to go and give the lie to his words about being surprised it's still going strong. Personally he thinks storms should stick to what they do best, preferably someplace else, and not argue. This is dreadful, but how was he to know it was going to storm? And she wouldn't have liked being left behind, nor would she have been that much warmer, probably. The irrational panic of thunder and lightning blend surprisingly uniformly with the very rational panic of suddenly doubting all his decisions. He keeps a tight grip on her hand and does his best to hurry without winding up in the mud. The last thing they need is for him to dash his brains out on a rock. He shivers once very thoroughly, like a bird fluffing up its feathers. The light, at least, seems undeterred by the storm.

"Don't worry," he says for probably the thousandth time, and with a surprising lack of irritation. She's adventuring just fine. And she's survived worse than a little weather. That's probably not what you say though, right? How do you talk to children, he has no idea. Traumatised children! That have been dragged out into a positively apocalyptic storm. Well, enough about his mistakes. His mind, like the finely tuned instrument it is, can suggest only a few courses of conversational action for a stormy forest, and she probably isn't interested in ghost stories, having recently been the subject of one. "In the morning this will seem like a bad dream, like nothing at all. And then you can have breakfast. That's how it always goes, with unfortunate circumstances. They wind themselves down and become forgettable, and then you can have breakfast."
starlightcalliope: (troll: mUsing)

[personal profile] starlightcalliope 2016-11-14 08:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh yes, she'd suggested hurrying, hadn't she. Turns out she'd underestimated her grandfather's long determined strides and she's struggling to keep up as he's pulling her along, desperately hoisting up her bedraggled skirts with her free hand. The sooner they reach the light, the better.

It's good to be reminded that this will pass, that the world won't end in lightning and noise, and breakfast will be wonderful. "I'd like that," she agrees wistfully, probably too quietly to be heard above the din of the storm. Rallying a bit more vigor to her voice, she adds, "I fancy you must have experienced oodles of unfortunate circumstances in your adventures, much more adverse than a spot of rain." So he certainly knows what he's talking about. Her own ways of coping with frightful storms are perhaps rather silly in comparison, but hopefully somewhat diverting. "I used to imagine I could negotiate with the North Wind. I'd offer it a poem or a flattering illustration, or my next meal when I'd run out of ink. It was a bloody stubborn bugger, let me tell you."