hadriel_logs | Event log: Who What Where Wendigo

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Event log: Who What Where Wendigo

Who: Everyone participating in the wendigo event!
What: The accidental-cannibalism-turned-horrifying-monster event that is the Who What Where Wendigo event!
Where: All around the city
When: Feb 14th-March 1st
Warnings: Cannibalism, body horror, evil monsters lurking around.

Don't forget to check up on the Wendigo Guide that Ami posted!

On February 14th, Rage and Fear decide to give Hope a little bit of help taking care of the residents of Hadriel - they'll provide some food for awhile. How nice! Except, of course, that there's an extra ingredient in this food. A can of beef stew? Yeah... that might not be beef. But hey, it still tastes pretty good! Unfortunately, some spirits slipped through the Door last time it opened, and they're ready to possess anyone who participates in cannibalism - even if they don't know it.

Anyone who eats the provided meat will be possessed by a wendigo spirit. Over the course of twelve days, they will transform into a monster that feels little but rage and hunger. While at first it can be explained away easily enough (people are super annoying, and isn't everyone a little hungry most of the time?), by February 18th, wendigo transformations are impossible to ignore. A few days after, on February 22nd, the anger and cravings of the wendigo spirit will overcome all other emotions, and possessed characters may begin hunting.

The physical and mental transformation will be complete by February 26th. The possessed characters will have lost themselves completely at that point. While physical healing (done by a character with Hope's blessing or another healing ability) can turn back the physical and some mental effects, they will remain possessed until death or until Hope removes the wendigo spirit - which can only be done on the altar of Hope's temple. So have fun dragging your angry, possessed friends there!

On March 1st, Rage does Hope a solid (because she feels sort of bad) and kills all remaining wendigos. Upon revival, the spirit will be gone and the character will be fully recovered. Hopefully no one holds what they did while possessed against them!

► This log covers February 14th-March 1st.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► Please report any character deaths right here!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I believe I am having a PTSD flashback.

[She says it rather matter-of-factly. The things she's experiencing aren't logical, or at least they don't feel like it up close, but there is always an explanation. She's never had flashbacks before and can't say exactly what triggered this one, but it would explain things, wouldn't it? The irrational anger, the tension - yes, that would allow for all that.

Well, not all of that. She's still so hungry.

Maketh closes her eyes, pressing her forehead a little harder against the wall.] I'll replace the mirror. I didn't---I shouldn't have done that.

"Ah. Those suck."

Amos would know, he's had them before. It's why he's been mostly staying vegetarian lately: he'd heated himself up some stew and had himself a violent flashback and been miserably sick for almost a full day after. It happens, sometimes, things he normally doesn't mind just get to him and send him off avoiding things for a bit before his brain settles. It's life.

"Don't worry 'bout the mirror. Ain't nothin'. Anything I can do to help, shug?"

I've never had them before.

[And of course they start now. Perfect. Maketh grits her teeth, then steps back from the wall. Her hair is a mess. She makes an attempt at straightening her jacket before turning to face Amos, hands clasped behind her back. That's better.] Have a drink with me? I dislike doing that alone.

[She's not flirting with him, not really. Maketh just likes to take her alcohol in company.]

Well, that's interesting. If she hasn't had them before then how...? But she's military-precise and sharp, and of course soldiers see all kinds of ugly things. Amos nods a little, unconsciously straightening just a little and putting his hands in his pockets.

"Of course."

He doesn't say that sometimes drinking makes it worse, that alcohol sometimes makes the memories heavier rather than putting them at a distance. Either it'll help or it won't, and he'll let her choose her poison. He eyes the reddened mark on her forehead but doesn't mention that either, instead gesturing lazily to the door behind them.

"Ladies first."

[She knows, of course, that there's more to Amos than meets the eye. Perhaps an element that she shouldn't trust. Still, she likes his manners, no matter what might be hiding beneath them. Maketh inclines her head, and steps through the doorway. She has some alcohol stashed away, intended for a later trade. But right now she just wants to depart from her body a touch. Forget.] Thank you. I hope you like whiskey. It's all I could find.

"It'll do the job," Amos answers, as he follows her in. "I've got some vodka, if that's more your choice of poison."

Being friends with the creature known as 'the Alcohol Demon' has its perks, when it comes to hard liquor. Amos is not specifically a fan of any one kind of drink; he generally drinks for a purpose, not often for pleasure. But they all have their ways of self-medicating.

Maketh is not the only one to like his manners: being polite is a fine first line of defense against the supernatural...that, and Amos's grandmother had been a stickler for manners.

I wouldn't mind some of that.

[Really she'd love some Corellian brandy if she had a choice, but that seems unlikely. Maketh gives her coat another tug once she's inside, pulling the lines straight. She'll have to clean up the glass from the broken mirror soon, or someone might step in it.

Maybe once she's had a glass or two.

Maketh tips her head to the side.] You must have lived in an interesting place, Amos.

[He's no soldier, but he knows what a PTSD flashback feels like. An important detail, and one she hasn't forgotten.]

"I have indeed, ma'am. It's...very similar to this one, actually."

So much so that for a little while he wasn't sure he wasn't still home, just zapped off to some remote corner or time-forgotten cavern. Gods, monsters, magic...it's familiar and he hasn't needed to adapt much. He ambles along in his steady way and retrieves the vodka from his room: communal food stays in the kitchen area, but Amos always has extras squirreled away in secret.

He's a survivor, first and foremost. He's not useful if he's dead.

[Maketh takes a seat at the table, hands folded carefully in her lap. Her room, for now, is a space she doesn't intend to share - not even for drinking, which she dislikes doing alone.] Really? That is...interesting to hear.

[Perhaps unfortunate as well, but Maketh doesn't give out her sympathy much. Amos is alive. Therefore he's clever and likely strong. He helped her once and she'll return the favor if she can. They're allies. He doesn't need to be weighed down by expressions of sympathy.]

Forgive my bluntness, but do you have abilities?

Amos fetches a pair of glasses to go with the bottle on the table, then rummages in the cabinet and produces a container of biscuit-ish things. The texture is unfamiliar to him, a bit fuzzy, but it tastes exactly like a nice gingersnap cookie and Amos really prefers to eat something along with his drink, unless he intends to get blackout drunk. He sets these out and offers Maketh one, considering her question. At last he ventures forth a: "Abilities in what way?"

[Maketh considers the biscuits and finally takes one. It would probably be bad form to pass out in front of Amos. She needs to establish credibility with him first.] There was a man under my command who could move heavy objects with his mind, or read minds if he focused. Sometimes he claimed to see the future.

[It's a simplification of the circumstances. The Inquisitor was never really under Maketh's control, no matter what things said on paper. She'd thought them on friendly terms until he executed her men. Then she'd realized that such things as friendship or even camcorder were impossible with something like that.]

You mentioned your world had magic. We called it something else on my home, but it existed just the same.

"Ah." Amos is not unfamiliar with telekinesis or even clairvoyance. He takes his own cookie and sits down, sticking the snack into his mouth before he reaches to pour them both a generous sampling of the vodka. He slides a glass Maketh's way, then removes his cookie and chews happily before answering.

"I have one ability. Mine is a very minor talent, with a small range: I can talk to animals."

Which is fairly useless, as far as most people are concerned, but Amos finds it can be surprisingly helpful in some situations.

[Maketh chews the food thoughtfully. It's sweeter than she expected, with a small bite of spice. She rather likes it.] I imagine that's useful.

[There are many possibilities. Scouting, for one thing. Especially in open areas. An enemy might scan for electronics, but no one pays attention to a stray loth-cat scrounging about for supplies. She could have found a use for that. It would have made fighting the rebels much easier, Maketh thinks.

She takes a drink, closing her eyes at the familiar burn. It feels good. Like coming home.] Can you speak to the animals here? I imagine they're different, but perhaps...

"Well, I think it's useful, but not everyone does. It's not as helpful, as, say, bein' able to set things on fire with your mind. Or bein' able to lift things no human can lift." Amos shrugs. "That, an' my range is pretty limited. 'bout a half-mile, is all. People with more power can reach farther."

Amos is, on the general line of things, just barely on the scale of powers at all. The only sort who might be ranked below him would be people with no talents at all...and there are so many more who rank above him when it comes to terms of supernatural abilities. Amos is small beans, and he knows it, but he's content with it. He's useful enough and he likes what he can do. Animals are fascinating.

"I can't talk to the monsters, but the new birds they've brought in - I can talk to those. Anything that's just plain animal.... Once it starts getting on the monster scale, or if it's a shape-shifter, or if it's a magical animal, I can't talk to it. Which is really damn useful in sussing out they ain't actually animals, but not much past that." Amos has, on occasion, saved several missions and errands from being tricked into a trap by kitsune, or weres, or other assorted mythical creatures who only appear as harmless animals.

I have no power like that. [Maketh offers as an explanation. It seems important to her, being able to do anything of the sort. Even now, after she's served next to the Inquisitor and plotted against the surviving Jedi leading the rebel cell on Lothal. She felt very small next to the Inquisitor, and utterly insignificant cowering before Lord Vader. She often feels that way now, when she slows down enough to think about it. Bowed down under the mounting weight of all she must do.] Do the animals know anything about this place? Anything more than we do?

Amos takes a pull of the vodka, then nibbles on his cookie. "Well, not as such. They don't really...think like us, yanno? The fish in the river breed too fast to remember whatever first happened here, an' the birds aren't from here to start with. They're a little annoyed by bein' underground. An' that's it, which is the freaky part. There ain't anything else here. No bugs, no bats, no moles, no lizards, nothing."

He grimaces, because it's strange and unnatural and he doesn't like the echoing silence that it leaves in his head. He's too used to tuning out massive amounts of animal chatter, like a radio constantly playing in the background. And now? Nothing but the blips of the birds and the fish. Back when it was just the fish it had been a lot creepier. Now, it's better. The birds are nicer company.

[Maketh frowns.] Not even rats?

[That feels wrong to her. There ought to be rodents picking away at the refuse, though Maketh admits she hasn't seen any. There was something here before they came. The buildings didn't create themselves out of nothing, and they didn't fall just from the force of time.

Maketh pinches the bridge of her nose with a sigh.] This place makes no sense.

"Not even rats. It's creepy as fuck. Pardon my French." Amos takes another drink of the vodka, coughing a little afterwards. "It doesn't make sense, no, but from what I can figure, we're the pawns in round two of the gods' battle here. I ain't figured out yet what happened to....whatever lived here first, but it has something to do with Fear. Which is why we're here to start with: Hope says Fear opened the magic door that is drawing us all here. But Hope can't send us back, he doesn't know how."

Amos takes a big bite of cookie, but makes sure it's gone before he adds, "That's why Hope's trying to resurrect the other gods. He figures one of them might know how to send us home. In the meantime, though, we're pretty much the fuel for the conflict: the gods take strength from our emotions, get more powerful with what we feel."

It had been astonishingly easy to get that much from Hope. Just a little bit of friendly chatter and being polite. Amos is good at being polite and friendly.

[Maketh frowns, wanting to ask what French means, but doesn't. There are more important things to discuss.] I suppose he didn't indicate what powers the door, then?

[Everything needs a power source. And if it's not their emotions, then perhaps the Door took whoever or whatever lived here previously. Killed them, consumed them - something like that. Maketh takes a long drink. She hates not knowing the rules.]

I doubt they intend to send us home, though. What does that give them?

[Why let their meal wander off?]

"Hope seems fairly straightforward. Not the type for open deceit."

Just as a not aside. Honestly, he could be a lying liar, but so far Amos has seen little evidence of it. Hope seems rather like an optimistic golden lab: willing to please but perfectly puzzled by these strange humans.

"All he said of the door was it was a magical artifact. They can be self-powered, where I come from. Just how they do."

Perhaps. [Their full intentions remain to be seen. Maketh isn't inclined to trust anyone that calls themselves a god. She frowns at that, leaning forward a little.] Could you tell me more? About these artifacts of yours. It's possible we have similar things in my home, but I would not have been privy to them. And all the devices I know about that could do--anything of this scale, really, require some sort of power. Even if it is unconventional.

She finishes her biscuit, in the meantime.]

"Well, it's just...how they work? If they're divinely created, then they just...run on their own? I mean some are powered by sacrifices, and some eventually run out of power...."

Amos frowns a little, and gestures with his cookie before finishing it off and taking another. He takes a short drink of the vodka, and bites into the cookie.

"It ain't my field of expertise. I've only run across things like that every now'n'then. I'm not..." Amos shrugs. "I'm the personal assistance of my boss. She runs a large organization. When I'm with her, I help her run things at home. She sends me around the world as her liason and personal representative to our other branches. Sometimes I help with an old mercenary friend of hers, run missions with them."

"So while I know a lot of stuff 'bout the supernatural creatures, it's mainly for survival. Not as an actual field of study."

[That makes absolutely no sense. Maketh frowns, reaching for her glass again. The vodka feels good when she drinks, just enough of a bite and starting to slip into comfortable warmth.] I..see.

[Personal assistant, is he? And the kind that runs missions alongside mercenary. Perhaps he works for a certain clan like the Hutts. That makes him a touch more dangerous than she anticipated. Interesting.] Then tell me how you've survived such devices.

[If he has information, then Maketh wants it.]

"Mostly by being very lucky, by carrying a blessed artifact that marks me as bein' under the protection of a god, an' by knowing a lot of mythology so I'm familiar with the way certain legends go. Mythology ain't always right but it all has elements of truth in it, so even knowing a little helps."

Amos sips his vodka and adds, "An' I'm polite. That helps the most. There ain't many creatures who'll harm you if you're being polite."

[Well, that's frustratingly vague. Maketh thumbs the edge of her glass, frowning. She doubts that he's lying, though. More likely that the rules that govern Amos' world just don't apply here. She doubts being under the protection of a god - especially one of their motley rulers - would do much good right now.] Politeness has its limits. Did your world have any myths about these gods?

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