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: (pointing in space)

[personal profile] whofrownedthisface 2016-11-03 07:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Actually, he thinks he does see a light, as if called into existence by her question. Small though, maybe just a lone house, belonging to some kind of forest...hermit. Or someone with a job involving trees. Those are all plausible. Probably not bandits; he doesn't think the area's traffic could support any, unless they've taken to robbing wildlife. Though, come to think of that, the word for that occupation is 'hunter,' isn't it. Anyway it would be worth a little robbery as long as he got to be robbed someplace warm and dry. And hopefully without any murder. That would be just today's luck.

The light seems to be moving, disconcertingly enough, blinking in and out of view. But surely there isn't anyone actually out in this with a lantern or a fire; probably just their own motion through the trees, causing the illusion. "There, look! I knew we had to be getting close," he says with some vindication. He can practically feel the warmth already, though the light doesn't seem to be getting any nearer or brighter yet. Still, what a relief, and how melodramatic all that internal worry seems now that the end is in sight. It lifts his spirits enough to set him chattering. "We may not be quite to town, but I'm sure we can spend the night there and press on in the morning. Storm like this, it'll burn itself out long before then. Surprised it's kept at it this long. Must have been corralled by the mountains, whipped up by the wet air off the river," he speculates like he knows anything about how weather works. But it sounds plausible, and that's the main thing. Establish a boundary of knowledge, that'll keep things optimistic.
starlightcalliope: (troll: !!!)

[personal profile] starlightcalliope 2016-11-03 09:29 pm (UTC)(link)
At his exclamation, she does look up to catch a brief glance of the distant, promising light between the trees. But immediately she feels the wild tug of the storm at her hair, along with an icy gust of raindrops on her face, so she hurries to keep her head lowered once more, trusting her grandfather to lead the way. How wonderful it will be to be out of the rain and rest in the safety of four sturdy walls! His explanation is a bit hard to follow, especially with the wind fiercely lashing the trees and creating an otherworldly howl above them, but it sounds reassuringly knowledgeable anyhow.

But all that reassurance and relief is shattered with the bright flash and deafening clap of a lightning strike, so close she can feel the ground shake. With a wee shriek of terror she jumps and presses close to him, heart racing and breath catching. How can such a vast forest be so oppressive, so encroaching, like something violent and hungry? "Blimey," she manages after a moment, trying in vain to dismiss the anxious tension in her bones. "Perhaps we ought to hurry? It, um, seems to be getting worse." She'd hate to be appear frightened, when they're meant to be on an adventure, but she reaches for his hand nonetheless. And it's surely only the cold that has her unable to stop shaking quite yet.
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."