⇨ 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

[chronosynthesis]

"I wouldn't call it a vacation," he grumbles, shoulders slumping a little. He doesn't let his posture hang for long, however, as Lambert's the best option for getting him up to speed.

"How long have I been gone? I see that we are still camping... or is it camping again?"

[whattaprick]

"Just a few days," Lambert says, before he frowns. In the time he's known him, Syrlya's never looked so visibly worn. Harried, certainly, and exasperated. Almost complaining, though? That's a new one.

Fortunately, Lambert has a tried and true remedy for that.

"You look like you could use a drink," he declares, then grins. "I brought some faerie ale, if you want some."

[chronosynthesis]

"That wouldn't be unwelcome." Maybe he should have had some at that stupid celebration before it was crashed.

"No trouble in the past few days, then?" No more than they already caused, anyway. He sounds almost hopeful.

[whattaprick]

"If there was, I slept through most of it." Lambert pauses. Actually, well, sleeping is kind of the root of the problem here.

"Ginko mentioned some kind of weed that makes people start walking into each other's dreams and turn into one person. Or something." He makes a vague gesture. He was probably half-asleep for that explanation, unfortunately, so he cant tell him much more than that himself. "But they're handling it."

Didn't you miss this, Syrlya?

[chronosynthesis]

"So be mindful of the foliage I consume." He has no idea what Mushi are, but sure! But hey, if they're handling it and Syrlya doesn't have to he'll accept that. He's had enough handling problems for a lifetime, he could at least get a break for a day.

"Is there any update on the state of Ignatius?" Despite that, though, it's really hard to actually put business down once he's started.

[whattaprick]

"Be mindful where you go to sleep," Lambert corrects, shaking his head. "I think it's breathed in."

Assuming Syrlya will foollow, he starts heading back to his campsite, though it won't be at any great speed. He still looks better than when Syrlya left, though, so that's probably something.

"Last I heard, he was still in the Ringmaster's stomach. No idea what she's done with him now, or if she intends to let the rest of us know. Strange still hasn't hatched."

Now that's not a sentence he expected to say.

[chronosynthesis]

Are they really sure the Ringmaster didn't just straight up eat him?

"I see," carefully, neutrally, despite it. "I believe Sans took around a week before he resurrected, I assume that's normal?" He doesn't know, he doesn't have a lot of experience with resurrection as it is--let alone egg resurrections.

[whattaprick]

"Not really sure there's a normal for bringing people back from the dead," Lambert answers, then grimaces. "And if there was, don't you get the feeling Strange would want to prove himself an exception anyway?"

They both know their obnoxious as hell magician friend well enough not to argue that. If Jonathan Strange could prove himself the best at being resurrected, even if that took no actual skill or effort from him at all, he probably would jump at the chance.

[chronosynthesis]

"What Strange wants to do and what he is capable of doing are different things." Would he try to be the most exceptional? Obviously, but lines have to be drawn somewhere. "Besides, if it's time to ressurection then I already have him beat."

Also, that.

[whattaprick]

Wait, what? That actually makes Lambert stop walking, turning slowly to round on Syrlya and stare at him for a long moment, considering.

And then: "This is the kind of story that's going to need a lot of drinks, isn't it?"

[chronosynthesis]

"I will try not to drain your supply." Mostly because he really shouldn't drink himself into a stupor, even if he kind of wants to.

[whattaprick]

"You'd better not."

There's not much else to say, as they head back to the campsite Lambert and Childermass share, set away enough from the other tents for some mild semblance of privacy, even if it's mostly an illusion. Lambert gestures for Syrlya to have a seat on one of the rocks around the fire, while he goes to have a rummage around his tent for his alcohol supply.

Syrlya won't be alone there for long, though. There's a rustling in the underbrush ... and then Baker sticks his head out of the foliage, doggy tongue lolling. He'd been drawn by the sound familiar footsteps heading back to the tent, but on seeing Syrlya first instead of Lambert, that great fuzzy head tilts a little, confused.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya seats himself where Lambert gestures, a healthy distance from the fire (he might be leaning back a little). He tilts his head back when he hears the rustling, staring blankly at Baker as he sticks his head out of the bushes. Syrlya, at least, recognizes him even if the name escapes his tongue right now.

"Hello there," he offers the dog a faint smile, raising his hand.

[whattaprick]

Baker still doesn't seem to quite know what to make of Syrlya, but he knows what an extended hand means and he barks once before he trots over, tail wagging, to give the Sylvari a good sniffing-over. In the way that dogs do, that also means sticking his nose in all sorts of places, and it's that which Lambert walks back in on, holding two bottles.

"Looks like you're getting along with Baker." t's not faerie ale, alas, but it is his own homebrewed hooch, and the witcher passes the bottle to Syrlya before settling down with a grimace.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya tolerates the sniffing over for a moment before putting a hand to Baker's snout, mostly to make him stop by giving him the affection he hopefully wants, because Syrlya has nothing to feed him.

"They are... Childermass', correct?" He looks sideways to Lambert before taking the bottle in his free hand, raising a brow at that grimace.

[whattaprick]

Baker whuffs against Syrlya's hand, curiously, but he's too well-trained to actually chew on it. Syrlya's a bit too active to be thought of in the same terms as a stick, although it's close enough there's a lot in common...

"Baker? Yeah, he's Childermass's. Same world Pig comes from... Butcher's dad, actually." He'll ignore that raised brow in favor of expectantly watching for Syrlya's reaction. Most people have something to say about a dog and a horse having a donkey for a baby.

[chronosynthesis]

"Butcher--your young horse?" Because hell if Syrlya knows what a donkey is. He knows what it looks like, though, and he stares dumbly at Baker for a long minute before his attention slowly slides back to Lambert.

"But... how--no, wait, actually, I don't really want to know." It's clear Butcher only takes after his mother, anyway, which honestly just makes it more questionable but he is not remotely in a place where he wants to try and decipher foreign animal reproduction.

Instead, he takes a swing straight from the bottle in his hand--and his face immediately scrunches up in distaste as he swallows.

[whattaprick]

"You don't," Lambert says with a sort of cheerful, vicious menace. "Especially not the part where he came out of an egg."

It's not the good stuff, but witcher alcohol is ranked more in potency than flavor. Drink enough of it and Syrlya, too, will probably find the taste less important -- or maybe that's just the steady death of his taste buds. Who knows? In any case, with no food or pettings forthcoming from the Sylvari, Baker detaches from his side and trundles over to Lambert instead.

"I don't have any food for you, you bottomless pit," the witcher says, fondly, but he does reach up to scratch the dog companionably, which seems to be as good a compromise as any. It sets that great big tail wagging, anyway, and Baker props his head in Lambert's lap to let him continue giving him his attention while the rest of him flops out on the ground like a great orange carpet.

"But you didn't come here to talk dogs." That's directed at Syrlya, again. "So, what happened to you?"

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya looks at Lambert. Then up at the sky, in silence. Then Lambert again. The sky.

Then he proceeds to knock the bottle back, chugging the alcohol for a second until the burn almost makes him choke and he's forced to stop with a gasp.

"I don't even know where to begin," he groans, staring into the fire. "The whole situation has grown wildly out of control, and we are running out of time."

[whattaprick]

"Well," Lambert says dryly, gesturing around them. "We obviously aren't going anywhere, so take your time."

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya's expression twists, and he narrows his eyes a little at Lambert before sighing and leaning over with his arms rested against his knees. He's sideways, a little, so he's still not leaning too close to the fire.

"Before I arrived at the carnival, I learned the the ex-Human God Balthazar was planning to contest the dragons himself. Of course, we cannot kill the dragons until we have another way to stabilize the magic of Tyria without them, but he didn't care about that." Syrlya looks sullenly down at the bottle. "So we had to stop him."

[whattaprick]

"Gods don't tend to care a lot about anyone," Lambert points out. "That's kind of the entire point of being a god, isn't it?"

Still, if he's understanding what Syrlya's telling him correctly here...

"So, you fought a god." Or former god, it's not exactly clear. "How much did that suck for you?"

Because if it had gone well, he doesn't think Syrlya would be chugging alcohol like this.

[chronosynthesis]

"A former god, technically, so I hate to think what would have happened were he not stripped of his power," he mumbles into the mouth of the bubble, not terribly assuaged himself.

"But his death still released a significant amount of magic that the elder dragon he was trying to kill consumed, so either way we are dealing with a powerful entity bent on destroying us that is now more powerful." He takes another drink and waves the bottle for emphasis. "And the other gods just left Tyria entirely! I did not wish to say it in front of Kasmeer, but I do not understand what humanity worshipped them for."

[whattaprick]

“Hm,” Lambert says, noncommittally. Syrlya is talking like Strange sometimes does, like he’s supposed to know or care who these people or places are, but this isn’t really the time to ask clarifying questions — it’s the time to just steadily feed him alcohol until he’s too drunk to walk or think in straight line. It won’t, however, save Syr from a bit of ribbing.

“So, you decided to come back to the Carnival for a vacation after all that, huh?”

He’s joking, mostly. His impression is that people who leave the Carnival with incomplete contracts don’t recall much of any of the Carnival back home, but he’s not sure how the Ringmaster works out the pickup point either. It’s all firmly in the realm of magic bullshit.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlys remains blissfully unaware of Lambert's intention to get him too drunk to function, taking another swig of the bottle. He pauses after that, running his fingers around the neck of the bottle.

"I left to have a refreshed perspective of things here, upon returning. And I supposes I got what I wanted." He purses his lips. "At least I know that so long as I am here, Tyria is not falling further into turmoil. Yet."