⇨ CAMPING GROUNDS

[ringleaders]

Who: Everybody!
When: Day 64
Where: The Camping Grounds
What: While the Ringmaster attempts to purge the carnival of magical tracing spells and deal with the angry fire fae in her belly, everyone else is getting sent on an emergency camping trip with some unusual local fauna.
Warnings: Camping.

CRYPTIC CAMPGROUNDS↴ You're given about three hours to prepare, after the Ringmaster tells you her plans for the coming week. There is a vast selection of camping equipment at your disposal, and the means to take along enough food for the length of the stay. The wilderness of the planet you're left on is nearly idyllic, but some people just don't like the great outdoors. ► CRYPTOZOOLOGY: As it turns out, the carnival won't be alone here. There is a varied ecosystem of cryptids to be found as well, living in relative peace and mostly reacting to the newcomers with curiousity. More details can be found on the plotting post. You are free to NPC the cryptids as much as you need to, as long as you stick to the behaviours described. ► DREAMSHARING: There is a player plot going on which will allow characters to share dreams! These are specifically more dreams than nightmares, and the mushi-adept characters will be here to help. ► CHILLAX: There isn't any plot twist for this setting, so this is mostly an opportunity to decompress from the last plot and get ready for the future. The Ringmaster will show up occasionally to help with needed medical treatments and check on things, but won't stick around for long.

Comments

[atouts]

Having that tossed to him just so makes it a decent time to segue right into a transformation. It's not entirely unlike his regular crow transformation, a flicker of shadow and motion, but on a grander, more frightening scale, but it all happens in the space of a blink. One second, Syrlya is tossing a giant bird a fruit, the next... Childermass is catching it, standing in the spot the bird once was and looking unbelievably amused by it all.

"Why, Mr. Syrlya, that's very generous of you."

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya proceeds to drop the rest of the fruit from sheer surprise.

"Wh--Childermass!" Well that he definitely didn't expect. He stares dumbly for a minute before he remembers himself, and ducks to collect his remaining fruit. "You were--that... hello."

He's got nothing.

[atouts]

"Yes, it was me," Childermass answers what Syrlya was trying to ask, even if the answer is obvious enough. After that, he'll take a bite out of the fruit he'd been thrown, and immediately grimace, pulling away from it. Oh, he'll still chew it through and swallow (it helps that he never takes that damn anti-toxin necklace off, so), but once he's done—

"That one's a bit sour, if you don't like that sort of thing."

[chronosynthesis]

"Sour?" Syrlya raises a brow at that grimace, taking one of the fruit in his other hand to inspect it. And then he just takes a bite himself, chewing slowly to test the flavor.

"Mm--" Being from a more tropical climate, sour is much less surprising but he sees what Childermass means. "Maybe if you roasted it..."

He's not a cook, though, so that could be a total mistake, too. "How are you faring?"

[atouts]

"It's not the first time I've had to sleep in outdoors, so well enough."

Camping has been one giant shrug as far as Childermass is concerned. The fact that there are tents and anything other than dirt or a thin blanket to sleep on is actually a luxury as far as he's concerned. All that he has to really want for is—

"Though it could all do without everyone finding one reason or another to yell at each other," he adds with a small snort, but oh well. "And yourself? Simple as it would be to assume a man made of plants is comfortable being surrounded by them, I've no real way of knowing."

[chronosynthesis]

"I suppose there are a lot of reasons for emotions to run high..." Syrlya glances aside, taking another bite of the sour fruit and stalling for a moment.

He looks back when he swallows. "You would be right in that assumption, at least." He waves the fruit for emphasis. "I am no stranger to sleeping outside, either." Partly because Sylvari tend to enclose themselves in less artificial walls, partly because Syrlya often finds himself travelling far out of the reach of civilization.

At least it's not the desert.

[atouts]

"A few too many, I'd say," Childermass grumbles but there's nothing to do for it. A lot has happened, little of it good, so one can hardly blame him for leaning towards the topic of being outdoors rather than harping on about all their current troubles.

"I usually opted for outside when the weather wasn't too bad. It was a bit pointless to spend anything on staying inside when I had to travel as much as I did. Was that your own situation? Or do you just prefer sleeping under the stars?"

[chronosynthesis]

"Your buildings can be a little stuffy," he admits. "But I simply often have been in business where a local inn wasn't an option for me. For war, or..."

Well, really just some form of war. His expression twists a little. "Pursuing trouble before it causes any more damage." For all the good that's done.

[atouts]

"So war and more war?" Childermass can read between the lines, Syrlya. "Unless you're just the storybook hero type of plant, that is, then I would have to assume chasing trouble is for pleasure."

Because who in their right mind does it out of duty? Well, that's unfair. Childermass has chased down trouble enough times because someone sure had to.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya's expression twists wryly. Actually, he's pretty sure a lot of people would romanticize the story of the lone commander who fights for the world and is every bit the noble hero they'll tell their children about. And Syrlya's pretty sure they'd be wrong.

"Essentially. My duty is to protect Tyria." Really. "You would be surprised how many people will potentially destroy a continent in the pursuit of more power."

Or maybe he wouldn't be. Maybe this is pretty normal in other worlds, they just don't have cataclysmic levels of magic to draw from.

[atouts]

People fight over land, riches, for country, for honor, for their own gain, but Childermass has yet to see or hear of any particularly bent on being that destructive, all save for, well—

"That's more or less what the Void asks," he admits, quieter than before. It's not a kind memory, but he won't linger on it. Instead, he'll try the fruit one more, only to pull another face. Definitely not for him, so, seeing as he wouldn't give a fruit already bitten into back to anyone, he'll give it a toss into the bushes nearby.

"Though it's stupid. What's the point of power if you destroy everything there is to lord over with it?"

[chronosynthesis]

To that, Syrlya can only shrug. "At least one of them went mad from excessive magic poisoning, so I am sure that had some sort of influence on his reason."

Most often, it's people completely foolhardy in their goals that they fail to see the damage they will cause. The dragons, those are a different story entirely. "The other was a god who, truthfully, did not care."

He'd survive it, after all. The third one is walking undead, and can probably create his own image after he obliterates everything. It's all terrible, frankly! "I do hope things never become so grave in your world."

[atouts]

"The worst I have to worry about back there are politicians," Childermass admits. It could obviously be worse, far worse. "Though with the roads open to Faerie, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before that causes trouble agai—"

But there's a rustling in the bushes that cuts him off, right over where he'd gotten rid of the unpalatable fruit. He stops talking, turning to look instead.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya briefly makes a face, not envying having to maneuver politicans even if it potentially less cataclysmic. He never fully grasped human's social rules around status and government, and he's not sure it did much to keep the corrupt out.

Before he can ask more about their experience with fae, though, the bush rustles and Syrlya's attention snaps to it in an instance. He barely stops himself from reflexively grabbing his sword, reminding himself there isn't supposed to be real danger here. He waits a moment, and if whatever's rustling isn't jumping out he takes a few, slow and careful steps closer to investigate.

[atouts]

Syrlya steps closer, Childermass steps back, and while they do that, their new guest makes themselves known by slowly stepping out through the bushes. They're tall, covered in brown fur, and has the discarded fruit in hand. One of the bigfoots, a species that's mostly held itself at a distance before but curiosity and the sight of fruit has drawn this one out to take a closer look. They loom over the two of them, still half hidden in the bushes and tree branches, though they don't hold still or remain silent since they're absolutely lifting the sour fruit up and eating it as they watch Syrlya and Childermass.

The latter of the two, Childermass, stops moving as soon as that creature reveals itself, not really sure what to do.

"Ah. These... are much larger up close."

He's seen a few from far above, while out flying, but that's a very different perspective.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya stops and leans back as the Bigfoot rises up and over them, chewing on the discarded fruit.

"Hm. So they are." Not quite actual living giant huge, but large enough Syrlya doesn't really want to tangle with it over his fruit. So, of course, he starts walking backwards, slowly as if trying not to startle it that he's moving to escape.