⇨ 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

[motivenotfound]

"Oorf--"

His big snout makes contact, all right, driving directly into her stomach and knocking the wind right out of her, but she was hoping for that. Well, maybe not that specific part, but a shot at his face. (Actually they're both lucky she didn't puke on him.)

She has four arms, after all.

Two of them--powerful Evangelion-esque arms with monstrous pawlike hands, dig their claws into his feathered flesh, seeking skin, attempting to find purchase. A third more humanlike hand flies up to grab her glasses, which are threatening to escape her face from the impact.

And a fourth, the one holding a bone spear, attempts to drive her weapon into his eye.

"HOLD STILL, FUCKHEAD!"

[espigeon]

Being grabbed doesn't really phase him; he's a tyrannosaurid, they bite each others' faces. His eyes are only about two and a half feet from the tip of his snout, the spear has to be bent back around. It splits the skin of his neck and is deflected by the brow ridge, but he's bleeding now, much more freely than from the arrows. He feels that all right.

The daspletosaurus does not hold still. The daspletosaurus whips his head back and forth like a dog worrying a small animal, tries to bash the hunter against trees, opens and closes his jaws trying to catch something between them. There's no saliva to speak of, just flung blood and hot breath. Hot breath that's got this blood plasma-yeast bread-sourness combination, at that; he hasn't had the chance to eat meat to taint it with.

His whole head is four or five feet long and this hunter would probably be almost as tall as him standing. Much of her height is elongated legs, and she's vertically aligned so she's smaller than she seems, but some of the muscles of his neck are slashed and she's still big and heavy enough that flailing his head carrying her is an effort, and not one he can keep up long. He is completely absorbed in trying to scrape off his attacker, utterly unaware of anything else going on.

[tacosgay]

Taako closes in-- given the thing seems pretty fucking distracted right now, he figures that's a safe bet, for the time being. He aims arrows at more of its softer points-- its neck, first off, though he realizes after a shot that Mari isn't in a great position to avoid being accidentally shot, so he switches his aim.

Instead, he rides up close, putting away his bow and drawing the sword he's been loaned instead; when he's within range, he jabs sharply at the soft tendons of the creatures previously uninjured leg, trying to drop it, or at least trip it for a moment.

[spaghettimonster]

"They probably don't understand you!" Papyrus yells out to Mari as he braces himself against the tree, and pushes himself back to his feet. "My brother, couldn't, when he was all big and four-legged and mind-controlled! So, let's coordinate!"

He winces as he stands, at the telltale signs of bruising along his spine. Fighting without using his magic is harder than he thought. At least this transformed friend doesn't seem to have any magic of their own, and they're just... gigantic enough, and toothy enough, and strong enough that it takes four people to have any chance here.

[espigeon]

The blade cuts through downy feathers and through surprisingly thin skin, into vital sinews. The daspletosaurus's eyes and nostrils were completely occupied with the facehugger hunter and even with the shouting on the ground, this takes him utterly by surprise. He stumbles, hissing, blood soaking into dark feathers, and still whipping his head, bashing it into tree trunks, his relatively petite feathered arms are extended and flapping like that will help.

This isn't working, he realizes, he's weakening (and there's something wrong with that; he should be able to fight and act for hours on end) and his belly is vulnerable. The daspletosaurus is spurred on to another reserve of energy. He stumbles again and rather than painfully correcting into and maintaining a stable stance he just starts thrashing wildly, all three tons and thirty feet of him. Head, feet, tail, whipping, throwing blood and loam everywhere, trying furiously to bite. You don't really want to get hit by the tail but it'd just knock you around, that's the least dangerous end.

This isn't something he can keep up for long. The leg is going to give and he's going to hit the ground and continue struggling, but he's starting to tire.