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Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
Remi has been trying not to look too directly at the glow, which is eased by the fact that his attention stays fixed on the boys between himself and Ronin, on the looseness creeping into their steps and the way their focus has begun to soften.
The yawn would have been enough, but the stumble is more than enough. He steps forward before the glow can fracture into more pathways, one arm sliding beneath Carlo and the other beneath Calan as he scoops them both up with no more effort than gathering blankets from the end of a bed. For all that they are no longer babies, Remi is still Remi, and settling them against either side of his chest is easy enough that he can fuss with the fit of them while he keeps walking, forearms braced beneath their legs and hands firm at their backs.
"There," he murmurs, his accent warming the word as his tentacles continue pulling vines and brambles from the path ahead. "Better?" The heaviness presses in behind his eyes too, which is a strange thing given how much it takes for anything to chip away at his endurance. Even so, Remi follows Ronin deeper, keeping the twins held securely against him.
Remi picks up Carlo and Calan and follows Ronin (so presumably staying on the path)
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Flora glances over as Melita jogs up beside her, the corner of her mouth already curving into the sort of smile that has never once preceded a sensible decision. "Noooo idea," she says brightly, shaking her head. "But honestly, who can resist a glowing trail?"
The words have barely left her mouth before Sunjata ’s voice reaches them, followed by Astaroth slipping into view as well, and Flora lifts both brows at Melita with a look that says exactly, see? Point proven. Even with the strange heaviness pressing through her limbs and the damp air making each breath feel a little too shallow, the Hot Take's grin only sharpens, all gold jewellery and bright eyes in the gloom.
"Oh, heyyyyy," she says, turning enough to flash the expression toward Sunjata and Asta both, delight blooming across her face as if they’ve all stumbled into a party instead of, potentially, a terrible mistake. "So guess who’s a demigod now?"
Flora stays on the path!
Flora
you can't be everything you wanna be before your time
Calan's yawn ends just as Carlo's begins, more synchronised than contagious, and his own hand curls tightly around his brother's just as his legs start to take him on an adventure of their own. The grin he shoots his twin is almost dopey given the way his own senses would rather he curl up in the dirt for a bit, but before he can say something undoubtedly profound and hilarious, his father is scooping him up like a babe in arms.
"We can walk," he protests, despite the way his little body melts against the offered support, his head immediately lolling down to Remi's shoulder. It gives him ample opportunity to peep back the way they've come, to watch the twining glow stretch out in different directions - one deeper into the mysterious holes, another towards glittering, still water. "We're missing all the treasure."
By treasure, he of course means the bones, stones and mostly shapeless offerings within the Peepholes, but his eyes are growing too heavy to keep making them out.
Carlo (reluctantly) stays on the path by virtue of being picked up.
Remi's focus on their sons means that Ronin is able to fully concentrate on their surrounding, any potential danger and, yes, the glow that continues to lead them deeper into the Peepholes. (That part feels most important out of the three, but he'll never say it). Noticing the way the lights seem to branch off enticingly, the Knight has already chosen to remain steadfast on the path even before his husband's voice reaches his ears.
Glancing back, his brow furrows to see both Carlo and Calan in his arms, each looking far sleepier than an adventure underground and probably into trouble should suggest. "Is everything alright?" he asks, promptly conjuring his projection to start walking at the rear now that Remi has become an unintentional courier for two identical boys.
Ronin carries on down the path and conjures his projection to fall in line behind Remi and the boys!
Magic: Astral Projection | Ronin can project a version of himself into another location. He can see, hear and speak in this space, and he can affect it physically, including combat situations. If the astral projection is damaged, it can no longer physically affect the space. He may only project as far as the sub-boards adjacent to his physical location - and only if he has previously visited the board.
Type: Light | Rank: Mastered | Cost: Action
Honestly, Flora’s comment is quite possibly the last thing the Heartless expects to hear – the shock of it flaring across his scars before it darkens again with the pull of the light that guides them. “Woah, what?” He says, staring at the back of Flora curiously as if he’s trying to pinpoint just which deity had chosen Flora. He assumes Safrin, obviously giving him some trepidation, but he’s capable of masking it to shoot her a bright smile if she were to glance back at him. “Congrats.” He offers out instead of the multitude of questions that build up, blotted out by a lopsided smile that keeps them locked behind his teeth.
It’s quite obviously not the right time as the path begins to diverge with lights beckoning in all kinds of directions, and Sunjata’s so distracted with everything that Flora’s just announced that Frey’s demigod continues on the path, following her, remembering how much of a power drop he’d had once he’d become a demigod. Protective in a way to make sure she’ll be fine, despite the fact Melita’s right there and Astaroth is presumably also capable of helping.
Sunjata stays on the path!
we'll break our own hearts so that someone else can't
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
The bark has Amhran turning his head immediately; it's strange how some noises feel familiar or somehow personal, even it could be argued that most canines sound the same. "Oh, hello," he trills to Deimos as he spots the hellhound, then nods to the lynx that arrives close on his heels. "To both of you. I was just seeing where this light headed." Gesturing to the glow as his feet continue to follow after it, by the time it splits into three directions, the Raeling is thoroughly invested in finding out where it's coming from.
"Maybe down here?" he suggests, meandering away from the path and deeper into the holes filled with offerings and other debris. The pull of root and earth is undeniable for Amhran, and he also can't deny a burning curiosity to see what might be inside some of the Peepholes with or without the glow. "Have either of you ever seen anything like this before?"
Amhran goes into one of the peepholes after the light!
// And they glow, with the help of Lucifer Yellow //
As they meander through the path and the light continues to beckon and breathing becomes more difficult, Asta’s quite content with the fact that Sunjata leaves him alone. He’s busy flashing Flora a too sharp smile, listening as she drops quite the news onto him – and without any of the apprehension anyone else may or may not have, his grin is equally just as bright despite the path they take as his tail twitches in quiet delight. “Oh, darling, that is wonderful news. Congratulations.” Half gushing for her own excitement that he can see dancing across her face – he has zero qualms with indulging in the subject despite the dark unknown that lies ahead of them.
“You will have to tell me about it all.” He drawls, his accent dropping as he picks up his pace to get a bit closer to Flora to hear all of the news, quite content to remain with the pack rather than go off on his own, especially during this season. Obviously it doesn’t have to happen now if things start to pick up, but Asta does look forward to the brand new lore drop of his friend sooner rather than later.
Asta follows along the path too!
Astaroth
// I had it, concerning madness, sink into satin, focus on the static //
Noah 's appearance only briefly distracted the hellhound from his constant perusal and study; a strange effect, where portions of his mind felt utterly listless, making him both ill at ease and narrowly honed, as if anticipating the worst time and time again. Could be anything, he rendered towards the lynx in a distinct shrug, because Caido had been known for both cataclysms and miracles alike.
But then the glow brightened, then divided, like it was everywhere all at once, and something nagged beneath the surface of his chest. All of them could’ve strayed anywhere, gone after pockets of light and filaments of fanciful decrees. Amhran held him at bay though; caught within those necessities of protection and security. For half a moment he almost wondered if snagging relics from former basilisk holders counted, or even the duplicitous means of the will o’wisps in the Greatwood.
Following the Raeling, he opted for going amongst the peepholes too – opting to shake his head with a declarative ‘no’ at the inquiry.
--
Deimos goes with Amhran into one of the peepholes after the light.
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
Melita wasn’t surprised to find them suddenly encompassed and flanked by others; perhaps they too were enticed and lured by elegant glows and potential for mischief. “Exactly,” she grinned back at Flora, before casting a wave at Sunjata and Astaroth. At least they were all in this together or something.
Stifling a yawn, because her brain should’ve been occupied by the fantastic prowess here, rather than trying to take as much air in, her eyes followed the blur of golden light meandering and slinking in all directions. It would’ve been quite a thrill to go in the various entities, especially after recent trips with Iskra down into these enigmatic traces. Maybe she’d brag it up when she had the opportunity.
But for now, she went along the path with the others, gaze still trying to trace any foundational efforts, tricks, or capers from the lights.
--
Melita stays on the path!
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
The glow reflected strangely against the trunks ahead, too steady to be firelight and too warm to be starlight bleeding through the branches. Noah’s ears flicked forward as the strange lights pulsed somewhere deeper between the trees, faint and shifting like, but also unlike, will-o’-wisps caught beneath the canopy. The lynx felt the curiosity in him brighten and turn from static at his edges to a low thrumming across his chest as the lights veered and divided and brightened, and drummed over his ribs when neither Deimos nor Amhran seemed to recognize them.
His ears flicked again atop his head as he moved, muscles coiled as he stalked, ready at any minute with a feline's swift response. He still thought of the basilisk relic and the retrieval mission (that he had been too weak at the time to help fight on, but did help guide), and that made him cautious as he moved away from Amhran and Deimos to step into a different peephole. Relics, magic, spirits, whatever this could be, had his mind running through possibilities as he moved carefully forward, paws silent against the forest floor.
Noah goes into one of the peepholes
Regional Score bonus: +15 in all shrine visits, drops, PQ+s, KQs, etc. (You must post this at the bottom of any post where a +15 should be included).
The golden light stretched on ahead as steadily as before, a thin and patient thread through the dark beneath the jungle, neither brightening nor fading along the path. It offered no sudden revelation, no flare of warning, only that same hazy shimmer winding between roots and damp earth as if nothing had changed at all.
But within the Peepholes, the glow began to deepen.
Where it had slipped into the openings before in faint, wavering strands, it now gathered more densely, pooling in the dark mouths of the holes and pulsing with a slow, inviting rhythm. The light in those hollows grew warmer and brighter by degrees, each pulse lingering a little longer than the last, until the shadows around them seemed thinner for it. Toward the spaces where Deimos and Noah had gone, the glow seemed almost purposeful, not commanding but encouraging, brightening in soft, repeated beats as though urging them farther in.
The drowsiness followed just as quietly.
It does not strike all at once, but settles over Remi like a hand laid gently across his eyes, tugging at the edges of thought until the dark and the light began to blur together. Melita will feel it too, that creeping heaviness folding through her limbs and dragging at her attention no matter how fiercely she tried to hold onto it. For Amhran, already caught in the pull of the Peepholes, the tiredness became impossible to resist, the pulsing glow turning soft and distant as sleep rose up to meet him.
For Remi, Melita, and Amhran, their sleep is not restful, but a lively thing, and far ahead, barely more than a shape at the edge of sight, something stands in the haze. At first, it looks like it might be a stag: There is the suggestion of long legs, of a narrow body held too still, of antlers lifting pale and branching against the glow. Yet the longer it is looked at, the less certain the shape becomes. Its outline shifts in small, impossible ways, one feature slipping into another before the eye can settle on it: antlers becoming roots, roots becoming bone, the curve of a head tilting into something almost human before stretching long again. It is too far away to see clearly and too strange to mistake for anything ordinary, a distant, waiting thing half-hidden in the dream-fog.
Melita, Remi, and Amhran have fallen into a deep sleep!
The light inside of the peepholes has grown brighter!
"From up here," Remi murmurs to Carlo—or perhaps it's Calan, gods, he really is going to have to start tying ribbons around their wrists now that he can't as easily check the back of their shirts—"you will be able to spot treasure better." His tentacles continue to pull aside the worst of the roots and vines, keeping the way open as he follows Ronin deeper into the Peepholes with both boys held securely against him, their weight easy enough that it should hardly register at all.
And for a while, it does not.
Then the heaviness that has been gathering in the air seems to find its way beneath his skin all at once, sinking through muscle and bone with a depth that even Remi’s endurance cannot answer. His steps slow first, almost imperceptibly, then again, his breathing deepening as his thoughts begin to slip apart around the edges. "Ronin—" His voice comes out thin and startled, and through the bond there is no warning shaped into words, only a sudden, exhausted pulse as bright and helpless as a flare before it gutters out.
Remi drops to his knees, but even half-dragged under, he manages to move the twins first, setting them down with clumsy care before his strength finally leaves him. His hands catch briefly against the damp earth, his tentacles slackening around the roots and vines they had been holding aside, and then he slumps forward, utterly asleep.
In the dream, he is standing again. Something waits far, far ahead, stag-like only until his eyes try to make sense of it, its shape shifting too often and too subtly to hold. Remi frowns, sharp confusion cutting through the strange quiet as he glances around, searching for Ronin, for the boys, for the path that had been beneath his knees only a moment before. With a frown, he'll reach inward, focusing on the golden thread that connects him to Ronin and to the twins, giving it a sharp tug.
Remi tries to teleport to Ronin!
Magic: On my head be it | Can teleport to anyone who could kill him via his passive magic.
Type: Grey | Rank: Mastered | Cost: Action
Calan makes a token sound of complaint, but it is hard to make the protest properly convincing when Remi’s shoulder is warm and his own bones feel as if someone has filled them with wet sand. He turns his head just enough to smother another yawn against the side of Remi’s neck, which is unfortunate because yawning is not very adventurer-like, even if it does happen to everyone eventually and therefore should not be counted against him in any official way. From up here, the scattered glow is easier to see, slipping apart into pools and holes and bone-bright hollows as if the jungle has laid out several interesting mistakes and expects them to choose the best one.
"Yeah, we can see it," he grumbles, though his voice has gone softer than he means it to. "But how’re we supposed to get it? We don’t have your tentacles." This seems like a solvable problem almost immediately, given that Remi has enough tentacles for the purpose, and Calan is just about to suggest a temporary sharing arrangement when something changes. Not in the light, or not only in the light, but in Remi beneath him, in the way the easy strength holding them both suddenly stops feeling quite so easy.
Calan’s eyes sharpen through the sleepiness just as Remi says Ronin’s name. That is enough—not because Calan understands what is happening, exactly, but because fathers do not say each other’s names like that when things are going according to plan. Remi drops, and Calan’s hands clutch automatically at him before he is set down with clumsy care, his feet finding the damp earth a little too quickly and not quite well enough. He stumbles once, catches himself, and then turns back as Remi’s hands hit the ground and the tentacles go slack around the vines.
For a second, Calan only stares before he looks to Carlo, eyebrows lifting in an expression that says several things at once, most of them beginning with well and ending somewhere near that’s new.
Calan gets put down and stays on the path!
"Hmm," Carlo says with all the magnanimous consideration of a king deciding whether or not a gladiator has done enough to stave off execution. "I suppose they are family tentacles when we are adventuring like this," he says, head lifting drowsily to glance across at Calan as if to ask his thoughts on the matter, when their father suddenly drops around them. Like his twin, Carlo clutches instinctively at Remi until he's released quite safely on the ground, and again like his twin, he's left watching the Bastion keel over asleep with an expression best described as bemused.
"Dad," he calls to Ronin, in case their other father hasn't already come running. "Tentacle dad's broken." Shuffling to the side but staying quite firmly on the path, one hand sneaks out to grab Calan's while the other tries to stifle a yawn that threatens to swallow half the Oerwoud if he lets it loose. All of this is incredibly strange and exciting, he realises, fingers creeping up to rub at his eyes now. It's a real shame he's so sleepy for it.
