lostcarnival | ⇨ END OF EVENT LOG

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⇨ END OF EVENT LOG

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↴
THE GANG DOES A (LOT OF) MURDER

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.]

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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?

Edited 2017-11-08 21:18 (UTC)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

Edited 2017-11-11 04:37 (UTC)

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!"

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.

Faster than anything that size has any right to move, though what had he expected? Baker certainly moves that fast. A dragon likely would have, too. So, why not a boar? Childermass knows better than to try and stand his ground in the face of such a charge, but he's also not exactly on par with that kind of speed. He is, in the end, only human (or human enough, anyway).

The good news is he does step aside quickly enough, after waiting for the boar to get close enough to rule out changing direction too fast. The bad news, it's barely. While no tusks hook into him, the boar does manage to snag the cloth of his coat — along a sleeve — and yank it badly enough to throw him off balance with a shout. There's a tearing sound, but not enough to immediately free him...

More like drag him along. That's going to be... fun. Yeah, real fun.

There's a tearing sound as worn fabric and stitches struggle to hold together, the cloth ripping along the seams and pulling free of the magician, but not before he is, yes, yank off his feet and dragged along the ground. As much as Childermass has kept the shabby thing in reasonable condition, holding up to the assault of an infuriated porcine just isn't one of those things it was ever intended to deal with.

The good news for Childermass is, that means he isn't dragged along very far before the cloth parts with a horrible tearing sound. The bad news is, well, he's still dragged along for a bit, but the boar's momentum carries it forward enough that it can't immediately turn and rush back at him. Hooves clatter with a deafening cacophony as they scrabble for purchase on stone, the beast snorting and tossing his head and sending the sleeve that remains caught on his tusks flapping wildly and smacking into his face.

The boar's confusion buys the magician some time. The question is, what is he going to do with it?

A bad end to a good, long-lived coat, but Childermass won't have time to lament the loss of the sleeve. He's dragged just enough to know he'll feel it later, but then the sleeve goes and he hits the rocky ground with a oof. There are a few other mild noises of discomfort as he rolls over to his knees and begins pushing himself up.

Oh, he is really beginning to see why this was such a bad idea, but the continuous whine of Baker becomes the new focal point for him. Looking back, the Pokemon is still having trouble finding enough purchase along the side of the cliff for his back paws, stone and dirt too loose to get himself shoved back up safely.

A quick look back towards the raging boar, a twinge of regret crossing his face, but when he takes off again, it's to try and cross over to his dog, not to go after the boar again.

Unsurprisingly, the boar's in not much of a state to care or notice the expression on the magician's face. But he seems to decide the cloth's a trivial matter, and that repeating the same strategy is the way to go, so as soon as he shakes it off he's already charging forwards towards the magician again, and the edge of the cliff.

And from that point on, it's a race to who can get to the cliff's edge first. Childermass has a head start, so it's only natural he skids to a halt right next to Baker. The spear he had before has already been discarded. It was useless, anyway, seeing how his plans are now in such disarray.

"Hang on," he tells the arcanine, crouching down next to him and putting one hand into his great, now-feathery mane. Next, he reaches for a shadow, Baker's own shadow, and looks back at the boar one last time. He'll wait until the last second, letting the beast draw as near to the cliff's edge with them as possible, and then both magician and dog will vanish, the shadow at his fingertips lurching up to drag both down into safety in a flash.

As its prey disappears from sight, it's too late for the boar to halt, and his enormous golden bulk launches off the cliff's edge. Yet if the magician was hoping for the beast to tumble to his death this way, he'll be sorely disappointed, for the boar... keeps running through the air, as thought it was as solid as the earth beneath, though his hooves no longer make that dreadful noise.

He slows to a stop midair, arresting his momentum somehow, and raises his head, sniffing the air, before bellowing his outrage at being cheated of the fight he was looking for.

When Childermass and Baker reappear, it isn't so far away that they can't look up and see. It's only as far as the treeline, back down below the rocky terrain, stumbling out of those shadows, both immediately sitting (and in the magician's case, leaning against the dog).

There's a brief moment where he can only stare up at the golden boar, standing midair and throwing his tantrum up there. It's quite a sight, but not one he wants to stick around for, just in case he catches wind of them. He pushes away from Baker, standing properly.

"Baker," he calls the dog's attention back to him. He nods off in a direction back into the woods and turns to go, Baker quick to join him now that solid ground is back under his paws. This fight will have to be dealt with by someone else. Maybe he should go find someone, warn them not to look for a dragon, but who?

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⇨ END OF EVENT LOG

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