⇨ END OF EVENT LOG

[ringleaders]

Who: Everyone participating in the Prince's challenge.
When: Day 178, Afternoon
Where: A Conjured Forest
What: The Carnival takes to the Hunt again, but this time, with the intention to win.
Warnings: Violence and death.

SACRIFICES↴ In a bid to definitively settle a victor and reclaim the captured carnival workers, the Ringmaster has challenged the Prince to another hunt. If the Prince wins this challenge, he can claim the Blue Rose the Carnival stole; if the Carnival wins, the Ringmaster will be allowed to claim one True Name in the Prince's possession. With the Manor reshaped as it is, there's no longer a courtyard to transform into a suitable hunting ground. Instead, the Prince's magic has turned one of the floating islands between the fortress and the Carnival into an overgrown forest. Being a fae contest, of course, each side's idea of victory is not as straightforward as it would appear, but for those participating in the hunt, there is only one objective that matters: to kill their prey in the time they're given. The captives who have been transformed into beasts will have little of their human sentience remaining, and will be set loose to wander the forest freely. Instinct will compel them to conceal themselves or attack hunters, depending on their individual disposition. Upon death, the beasts will remain in their bestial forms. IN HOT PURSUIT↴ To win this challenge, the hunters must bring all of the beasts down with weapons or innate strength within the time limit: an hour and one minute. No magic may be used to take any of the beasts down -- any use of supernatural or magical abilities to trap, track, or kill the creatures will result in a forfeit to the Prince, and this will be made explicitly clear to the hunters before the contest begins. Hunters are allowed to bring their own weapons and mounts, provided they are non-magical in nature (or their magical abilities are not being actively used). If they do not have their own, ordinary ones of any variety will be provided to them. To expedite the proceedings, rather than dragging the bodies back individually, each hunter will receive a token from the Prince: an enameled blue rose. To formally claim a kill, they must place the rose on the dead beast (ideally, in their mouth, though as long as it's touching it it will do) and activate the spell by reciting the following words: "I claim this life for thy Master's game." "A life surrendered to claim my prize." Using the rose in this way will cause its petals to instantly wilt and magically bring the dead beast, and any hunters touching it, back to the Prince. So, don't touch it if you want to stay in the forest for more hunting. A CAPTIVE AUDIENCE↴ The Prince and the Ringmaster will be waiting for the results of the hunt in a roughly-constructed marble amphitheatre on another floating bit of rock. Those whose stomachs are too weak to take up even just the appearance of hunting can stay at the Carnival or hang out in the amphitheater, with the caveat that any attempt to attack the Prince or use magic to aid the captured prey will instantly default the win to the Prince. Should they want something to do other than twiddle their thumbs, the non-fighting carnival workers can peer into the hand mirrors left on the seats, smaller versions of what the Prince is watching the hunt through. They will be unable to control what images are brought up in the mirror, and it essentially only shows whatever the Prince is looking at himself. There's no sound, but the images are in full color (all the better to see blood with). This is also the area that the hunters and prey will be brought to when the spell is activated (or when every creature has been hunted). So, expect for a pile of corpses to end up there. [ OOC: This log wraps up the end of the Heartstone Manor plot! It is up to hunters and prey to create their own toplevels and sort out who will be delivering the finishing blow (feel free to use the OOC post about this event to coordinate that), but OOCly, it's set that the Carnival will win the Prince's challenge. The hunt's conclusion will be posted as a separate comment for characters to respond to.]

Comments

The Golden Boar

[whattaprick]

[ HIT AND RUN ]

The scarred boar prowling the forest is massive. Not as large as some of its fellow prey, perhaps, but it's a hulking, awkward shape, the enormous bulk of its head and shoulders tapering down to hindquarters that seem to be carved of stone. This doesn't appear to impede its movement at all, and those limbs move as smoothly as though they were made of flesh -- and most importantly, they move quickly. Most often, hunters will see a flash of light out of the corner of their eye, or hear something crash through the undergrowth, heading rapidly away.

It doesn't seem very interested in concealing itself -- how can it? It glows in the dark -- but if caught at a rare moment when it's standing still, it will whirl around to face the potential threat, pawing at the ground. As it does so, flowers spring underhoof, spreading around it, but hunters best not get distracted by the sight because it will be immediately be followed by the boar rushing forward, hooves crashing against dirt as it aims to gore an unwary hunter and their mount.

At other times, a lucky pursuer will come across the boar standing on the rippling surface of a stream or pond, greedily lapping up water as though its been thirsty for days. The splashing is loud enough to provide concealment for a covert approach, but for how long that will last is another matter.

[ KILL: CLOSED TO PERIDOT & JASPER ]

The boar is uncertain how long he's been running, but he knows its been some time. He can smell the hunters and it's maddening, all the badawfulwrong scents that don't belong here mingling and overlaying each other, urging him to keep going, to get away. As he paces and snorts, trying to determine a clear direction to go in, it drags torn cloth stuck on a tusk along the ground, muddying it into further unrecognizability from its original black. He's breathing hard, not only from exertion, but from anger, body trembling with adrenaline.

[ ooc; if you'd like to plot a non-lethal encounter, please hit up the ooc post, thank you! ]

KILL KILL KILL

[periphrasing]

By now, it's getting late enough into the hunt that Peridot is starting to panic a little bit. It's been a little over a half an hour at this point, and neither she nor Jasper have picked up on a single trace of the beast that they're trying to track down. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised, considering neither of them has a lick of tracking ability between them, but what was Peridot supposed to do? NOT participate?

If only that had been an acceptable option.

Each passing minute they spend trudging along through this forest has Peridot finding herself internally, bitterly cursing Lambert for being so damn impossible to find. Like it's at all his fault, like he's doing this on purpose somehow just to be stubborn or spiteful. It's not like she wants to be wandering around in the woods with Jasper for company, of all people! It's not like she wants to kill him! But it's for everyone's benefit, including his own, so couldn't he just do them all a favor and show himself already?

She's very near to a meltdown when something finally catches her eye: a golden sheen, emanating from somewhere off in the trees. Gold... Lambert's dragon form had had gold scales, right? A thrill of hope surges through her. It's the first encouraging sign she's seen in this hunt so far, and she urgently gestures for Jasper to follow, approaching carefully and peering through the underbrush.

Unfortunately, these gems are still looking for a dragon, not a boar, so Peridot's immediate reaction upon laying eyes on the furious creature is total indignant confusion.

She drops a few choice gem swears at a hiss, and tries to stamp down on the urge to scream with frustration.

[stompadour]

With one hand on her head, Jasper pushes Peridot down and behind her. She doesn't take her eyes off the boar.

"We should take this one out anyway," she growls. "If we want to win, someone's gonna have to."

She looks the huge, angry beast over with a critical eye.

"It shouldn't take too long."

Jasper speaks with decisive certainty, but she isn't making any move to attack, yet. Whether she likes it or not, Peridot is her superior here, and she's accompanying her on specific orders, orders that contradict what she's suggesting now. She stares down the boar, one big orange hand curling into a fist, without any apparent conscious realisation of the fact that she's waiting for Peridot's approval before she charges.

[whattaprick]

Unlike Jasper, the boar has no need to wait. Nor does he have any intention of doing so. Though the creatures in front of him don't smell human, they smell of it. The words he should be able to understand barely process, in as maddened a state as he already is, crusted blood on his bristles and bloodshot eyes rolling in his skull.

Without warning, he charges towards Jasper, the bright color a more attractive target than the green one that's been pushed off to the side. As his hooves churn earth, flowers begin to spring to life in his wake, though that's the least of the things to worry about with so much mass approaching at such quick velocity. If he can spook them away or trample them enough to hold still so he can break away, he'll damn well try to.

[periphrasing]

Peridot growls indignantly when Jasper shoves her, and is on the verge of saying something kind of snarky and probably vaguely defeatist... when the boar suddenly catches on to them. She freezes, and goes wide-eyed.

Diamonds above, that's a lot of animal charging right towards them.

There's no time or space for her to do or say anything, other than to poof into her bat form and put a few feet of height difference between herself and the angry boar. They can't use their magic and supernatural abilities to fight or track the beasts, but the rules never said anything about using them to save your own skin when your life is on the line.

[stompadour]

Jasper, unfortunately, doesn't spook easily; when the boar charges, she stands her ground, bracing herself to seize the monstrous animal by the tusks. If she can get a good hold of him she'll use his momentum to turn and hurl him past her into the trees; if she can't she is probably going to get a little bit trampled, but she can handle that, probably.

[whattaprick]

It's a partial success, at least. The boar is intelligent enough to recognize the shift in Jasper's posture, but it's too late to stop his forward movement. But he can shift his step ever so slightly, change the angle he's coning at so when Jasper grabs him and flings him towards the trees, he goes flying ...

And flying, the cloth still stuck on his tusks flapping in the wind behind him. The bulk of his body twists in mid-air until he finds his feet, crashing through branches until he rights himself, hooves pedaling furiously in the air, squealing indignation from his new vantage point of twenty feet above them.

[periphrasing]

Peridot squawks and drops a few feet out of the air when Jasper flings him, basically ducking mid-flight as the huge animal goes soaring over her. She's ready to tell Jasper off for nearly braining her with a giant pig when she keeps following his trajectory and--

What the hell. She nearly drops out of the sky in shock at the sight.

"What on earth is this thing!?" she yelps, half dismayed, half disgusted.

[stompadour]

This... is not what Jasper was expecting.

She stares at the airborne hog in absolute indignation, her lips pulling back from her disconcertingly even and rectangular teeth in a snarl of anger.

"I don't know," she grinds out, "but I'm going to destroy it."

[whattaprick]

It's a nice sentiment, but the boar, at least, seems to have other ideas. His lip curls into a piggy sneer, grunting derisively at the gems below, before he turns -- with a last, insolent raise of his half-petrified scut of a tail in their direction -- and begins to run off into the trees.

This is no place to fight, after all. Much better to head for somewhere he has an advantage, meaning plenty of room for his bulk to maneuver.

[periphrasing]

There hasn't really been time up until now for Peridot to get a proper look at the boar, or to process the beast's whole presence. But she has the time now, and strangely enough, it's that sneer that gets it to click. Even if Lambert doesn't have his own mind at the moment, that expression... couple it with the scars on it's face, and the patterning of the petrification on it's body...

This time, she really does drop out of the sky in shock.

Green light glows from the bushes, and Peridot springs back to her feet in her regular form. (Which is for the best, probably; following as a bat would likely count as cheating.)

"Jasper-- THAT'S HIM!" she squawks, pointing frantically. "DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!"

[stompadour]

"What??" says Jasper, spinning round to look at Peridot. "You said he was––"

She breaks off with an impatient snarl, though, because she knows they don't have any time to waste. She grabs Peridot around the waist and charges after the boar, bellowing, "Get back here, you coward!!"

[whattaprick]

The shouting and general agitation behind him only serves to make the boar run faster. Though he makes a token effort to zigzag his path, whipping around trees -- hoping his pursuer isn't swift enough to do the same without smacking into the trunks at least a couple of times.

His destination, though, becomes evident when he breaks through the treeline and skids into a clearing with a pond. His hooves churn up the dirt and making more flowers spring out of the earth as he comes to ground, turning to face back the way he came. Flying is well and good, but it doesn't provide the momentum he needs, and as soon as Jasper and Peridot break through the undergrowth he's already charging forward again, the black cloth caught on his tusks flapping wildly beside him.

hit n ruuuun

[atouts]

With Baker at his side, Childermass has no problem tracking Lambert early on in the hour. Whatever the man might be now, the scent must not have changed enough for the massive hound to be thrown by it. It had taken some casting about before he managed it, sure, but once he found Lambert... Well, Baker adores Lambert. The hard part was hanging on to the dog as he bolted off.

That's how they end up near the edge of the trees, where the grass begins to be broken up by sharp stones and dirt dips suddenly into ravines and cliffs, where mountains on the Prince's newly created hunting arena begin to rise. All the way over here and no sign of Lambert. No dragon, no giant golden lizard. It's too easy to assume what he would be forced into.

What Childermass does spot are the flowers.

"Hold on," he tells Baker, tugging at the back of the arcanine's mane to get him to pay attention. It's an effort since Baker isn't technically trained for this particular purpose, but it works. Eventually. He only trods on the flowers a little before stopping and letting the magician slide off (and you had better believe he's already regretting this entire endeavor when he could have gotten a horse). So, it's with a little discomfort that he stabs his spear into what little dirt he can find and crouches down to take a closer look.

"This is celandine..."

That's too much of a coincidence to mean anything else, isn't it? Growing in a trail like this? But since when do dragons grow flowers?

[whattaprick]

The obvious answer to that question is, of course, 'when they aren't dragons.'

On closer inspection, under the celandine -- flower standing tall and bright, like they've been freshly watered -- there are sharp, four-toed tracks bigger than the span of Childermass's hand. Perhaps oddly for their size, they aren't very deep, as though whatever left them wasn't as heavy as its size might indicate, or as though it only stepped lightly enough to leave the barest impression on the ground.

The trail seems to head towards the jagged rocks that climb skywards. Here, only a few stubborn celandine plants cling, forming a loose path up along a makeshift trail. Whatever was here, it's sought higher ground.

[atouts]

With a print that light under the flowers, Childermass has to squint and frown and wonder at it for a few seconds. As far as animals go, he can't quite decide what it is aside from 'probably not a reptile' at this point. A hooved beast, at least, but what kind?

He supposes they'll find out. It's with a sigh that he reaches for the spear again and hauls himself back up to stand. He's tired enough as it is and that Lambert's choosing to drag this out, up into the mountains, isn't helping.

"Up that way, right?" He asks, turning to look at Baker. The arcanine snuffles at the flowers a bit, then comes up again, growling at the direction of the loose, rocky path with its few flowers trailing along it. That's as much of an affirmative as he can expect from the dog.

From that point on, he stays on foot, this time leading the way carefully up the rocks while Baker follows along behind, testing the stability ahead of each step with his spear as they climb. If their quarry has sought higher ground, then, they, too, shall go.

[whattaprick]

Luckily, it isn't much of a challenge to climb. Up here, there isn't much to see. The enchanted origin of the arena is easier to discern, the rocks rougher-edged as though they were more hurriedly constructed. Above the treeline, it's actually possible to see both the Prince's impenetrable fortress and the makeshift camp the Carnival has set up in the distance, the sliver of portal a glimmering, tantalizing possibility.

At the overlook, another patch of celandine has grown, a little patchy due to the difficulty of rooting itself in the loose stone, but it's a tenacious little plant. It could almost be a beautiful view, if you forgot that somewhere down there, the carnival's workers are trying to kill each other.

In the shadows cast by an overhang of rock that forms a makeshift shelter, something stirs at the magician and dog's approach, a weak glimmer of golden light and the sound of rough, labored breath.

[atouts]

Even if only a weak glimmer, golden light is telling. Gold scales, gold horns, gold... whatever this is now. Whatever he is. Childermass only spares the view from up here a cursory look before the gleam draws his attention back towards the overlook itself. He has to throw an arm out in front of Baker to keep the dog from charging forward to see what it is, but judging from the unhappy whine at being held back he lets out—

"Lambert?"

He shouldn't waste their time talking, he knows, but now that he's found him, uncertainty picks at his guts and colors the sound of his voice.

[whattaprick]

Gold light the color of Celandine's eyes, the fae mark written on the witcher's body, Lambert's soul after Portland -- though if Childermass hasn't yet gotten the Ringmaster's explanation for that, perhaps the significance of that would be lost on him. It's weaker than it should be, but when Childermass speaks...

The boar can recognize the smell: human and smoke, fire and fur. He's anticipating violence, recognizes what that stick in the man's grip means, but without an immediate attack forthcoming, he's less certain what to make of it. But with his route to escape suddenly occupied, it makes him restless, rumbling growl of warning echoing from the shadows.

[atouts]

Baker shifts around on his paws nervously, whining again and pressing against Childermass's arm, but the magician only shakes his head.

"Stay," he tells the arcanine firmly before stabbing his spear into, again, what little dirt he can find and leaving it there. All so he can approach this damned thing unarmed, which is unbelievably stupid to do. He knows it. If Lambert were actually here in his right mind, he would know it and call him an idiot for it. Yet he does it, slowing putting his empty hands up to be seen and taking a few steps towards the shadows.

"Lambert, I know that's you."

[whattaprick]

It's a singularly stupid move, and the boar already suspects a trick, but he'll have to move eventually. He may as well get into a better position to attack rather than be dragged out screaming.

It's with that in mind that the form in the shadows shifts, and he steps out into the light.

Even transformed as he is, he's seen better days. Dried blood and mud clings to the bristles emitting that soft glow, hide carved up with old scars and fresher signs of combat, scabbed-over claw and bite marks. Tusks as gold as the Nightrider's horns jut from his lip, and whatever isnt bristly skin is that ugly stone, crudely carved into the shape of limbs. His sides are heaving as he draws labored breath, soft pained sounds squeezing out of him as he stands there defiantly , and there's a wild look in amber eyes, no recognition in them at all.

If the man's come here to kill him, the boar isn't going down without a fight.

[atouts]

That's it, then. While now it's much more obvious how right he is about who this is, it's also all too apparent that there's nothing there. Nothing he can talk to, try to reason with, just whatever mad beast the Prince has turned Lambert into.

But despair is not something Childermass is prone to, as tempting as it might be here, now, confronted with what, perhaps, Peridot could rightly blame him for.

Maybe there had been another way...

Maybe he hadn't needed a distraction at all...

Standing here frozen with indecision won't answer those thoughts nor help anyone, though, and so he shifts back a step after those few trying moments of searching for any sign, any at all, in those angry eyes. He slowly lowers his hands again and simply says, "Attack."

There's no name attached but there doesn't need to be. Pokemon are raised to fight and this command is no different than anything else an arcanine might learn. There's a growl, brief, short, from behind the magician, and then the massive dog comes leaping straight over him and at the boar with a terrifying speed. One would think there would be some hesitance, considering the beast smells like Lambert, but Lambert smells wrong right now, so very wrong, and is menacing Baker's real master.

[whattaprick]

The word before was one the boar thought he recognized, but couldn't entirely understand, as confused as the human in front of him seemed to be. But the word that comes from his mouth next, that one he knows, and he reels back like he's been struck.

So it was a trick, after all. For some reason, that knowledge hurts, something deeper than the stone and exhaustion weighing the beast down, but it's all too easy for that pain to turn into rage instead.

As the dog darts forward, the boar screams challenge, hooves slamming into the ground to push all his great bulk forward to meet the beast rushing towards him. He may not move as swiftly, but he moves swifter than any horse, and easily outweighs the hound, and he's lowering his head as he charges, lowering his head -- if he can, he aims to hook his head and tusks under the dog and toss him to the side, using his own momentum to fling him away.

Where Baker may have the urge to protect, the boar has nothing but the maddened fury to drive him forward, and little care for self-preservation. He wants to be left alone to lick his wounds and nurse his pain. He doesn't want to be here -- not hunted, having to feel this confusion. Anything he can do to get this human and hound out of his face is an opportunity he will take.

[atouts]

Baker charges and Childermass falls back to grab his spear back up, turning just in time to see the boar hook the arcanine under his chest and heave him out of the way. It's said they run fast enough that it's like flying, but the reality is that Baker cannot, in fact, fly. He goes tumbling through the air with a startled, high-pitched noise and hits the rock near the overlook's edge hard, sliding far enough that half his body goes over and he's forced to scrabble for purchase to stay up.

"Baker!" It's a startled yell, shot through with terror. There aren't enough shadows on his side to get over there fast... the boar between him and his dog... The magician whirls back around to face the golden beast, brandishing the blade of the spear. The least he can do is give Baker time to try and get back up. It's all he can do.

"You! Over here!"

[whattaprick]

The dog is flung aside, and instinct tells the boar the right thing to do would be to chase after him to trample, chase, push Baker off the rest of the way --

Something makes him hesitate, a lingering remnant of human consciousness that tells him that's wrong, that it isn't something he wants to do. The split-second of indecision is enough time for the magician to shout and call for his attention, making the great ugly head swing around to face him with a snort, scratching at the earth and, incongruously, sending up more celandine flowers with every strike of his hooves.

And then, with little warning, he charges at the magician. Faster than any boar, faster than a horse, he closes the distance rapidly, head lowered to repeat the same maneuver he's just pulled off.