lostcarnival | ⇨ WYLD HUNT

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⇨ WYLD HUNT

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 100
Where: Shabondamashii
What: The Wyld Hunt unexpectedly crashes the Shabon's dimension, leaving chaos in its wake. Those that have been with the carnival for a while might recognize it as the personal army of a fae called the Huntsman - also known as one of the Ringmaster's age old rivals, whom she dethroned thousands of years ago. The last we heard of him, he was pursuing the carnival, and it turns out he found them faster than anyone thought.
Warnings: Violence, theoretical cannibalism.

THE AUTUMN MOON↴

There isn't any warning. You might not even notice what's happening at first, with the approach of the threat happening as spontaneously as a zombie uprising. You're minding your own business, enjoying Shabon, when a random alien charges you on foot with sudden and aggressive intent. Whether or not you can throw them off or defeat them, you'll soon find they weren't alone. An entire army is descending upon the city now, and the carnival is the target.

► THEY ARE LEGION: The Wyld Hunt comes in all shapes and sizes, with beasts and men from all kinds of different universes having been caught up in its sway. Those that have been in the Hunt for a long while have more or less completely lost themselves - they now function only as part of a pack, hunting whatever the Huntsman wishes and consuming what their prey leaves behind upon death. Some members of the Hunt are newer and more unsure, but they are all a part of a psychic hive mind that compels them to move as a unit. Everyone in the Wyld Hunt instinctively know what the Huntsman wants them to do, even if they never speak to him.

Their skills, powers, and physicalities are all over the board, but there are a notably large quantity of Wyld Fae among them, often being used as mounts by more powerful humanoids within the Hunt. When NPCing members of the Hunt for threading purposes there is a lot of flexibility to what you face, including entities and beasts from your own worlds - provided they are creatures capable of functioning independently.

► HUNT OR BE HUNTED: When set upon by the Hunt, it is easy to become overwhelmed. Unfortunately, in that situation, the only way to beat them is to join them. Beginning to hunt alongside the others will immediately pacify them against you. As soon as you start to follow, the thrum of the Huntsman's will will start to take over - the more you hunt, the harder it is to turn away from it. If you do stop, or successfully oppose the compulsion, they will be quick to set upon you again. Like the others, you will feel the craving to consume any individuals the Hunt has felled - you must resist this, because once you have eaten the prey of the Hunt, you'll be trapped within it indefinitely.

► WORN OUT WELCOME: The people of Shabon are used to crisis, but this is a bit beyond what even they are prepared to tolerate. The Hunt will be causing collateral, both of the human and the material sort. While the workers in Shabon have very well practiced escape procedures in the event of something like this, the other guests are not as fortunate. Plenty of them are capable of fighting back on their own, but they will not always be capable of avoiding the hordes. The longer this goes on, the worse it will get. Eventually, the Shabon workers will realize who the Hunt is after and start actively trying to turn carnival members over to them in order to make it stop.

► IN TWO PARTS: Tragically, this turn of events and the realization that she's managed to put everyone in danger once again will be what finally causes the Ringmaster to split in two. One side will immediately become disinterested in using violence to counter this problem, while the other will be desperate and reckless. This will also completely screw her ability to get anyone back to the carnival in time. There will be at least one Megathread dealing with her actions during this.

PLEASE NOTE: This is a conflict the carnival is meant to survive, not win. The main point of this is to get the plot rolling in a new direction, so don't worry about figuring out how to defeat the Huntsman, because in this moment it basically won't be possible. Have fun threading out the crisis, and see where it leads. I wanted to be up front about that, as opposed to letting everyone grasp at straws to prevent a result that will be inevitable, even if the details will shift.

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"This way," Strange says, as he gestures towards Syrlya. At least, he thinks this way. He didn't exactly see where the workers hid.

Thankfully, Strange's guess is correct. The two workers appear from a hiding place just inside a nearby building. They look relieved at the fact that the wyvern is gone...but almost instantly shift to a worried look as the two look over at Strange glaring up a storm.

"Erm...we're almost there," one of the workers points out.

"Then lead the way!" Strange snaps, still a bit grumbly and grumpy about Syrlya.

Syrlya, in contrast, has his expression trained to remain quite neutral. He's used to this act of staying composed with civilians.

"We are still hidden for the meantime," he says a little quieter, moving to walk alongside them on the side closer to the middle of the hall. He won't completely relax until they're safe, but ideally they won't find another fight.

They don't find another fight. The group walks for less than five minutes. All the while, Strange is biting the inside of his mouth, trying to calm down and get back to something close to calm. Eventually, the group stops in front of a nondescript building, the door hanging off due to an attack.

"This is it," one of the workers says. They enter the building and start to climb over the rubble. The second worker starts to go inside as well, but pauses for a moment. "Thanks."

Strange simply gives them both a little nod in return, remaining silent as the workers leave.

Syrlya bows his head as they thank them. "Be safe. This will be over as soon as we can manage."

Hopefully soon, if the Ringmaster can get her wits about her.

There's a moment of silence after they depart, before Syrlya breathes in deep and squares his shoulders before turning to Strange.

"Steven is reinforcing a location around the temple. Until the portal to the carnival functions again, it is the best location we have for protecting our own and tending to injuries."

He's caught glimpses of favoring an arm from Strange.

He's managed to keep his voice level and force a nonchalant tone as Strange starts to talk.

"In that case, I'll bring any of ours that I can find over there." But Strange isn't going there himself. Not yet, at least. He can do so much more for the carnival out here, scouting and fighting, than he could do cooped up in some temple.

"I assume you'll be heading back to the temple?"

"As I find other members of the carnival, yes. I also intend to keep an eye out for the Ringmaster."

He hopes she's not dead, or captured, or enthralled. They'd be even more screwed than they already are.

"This is not a fight we will win with power or attrition." Not with their numbers and experience, not without more help than they have available. "We need to find everyone and leave immediately."

"And how do you plan to leave immediately?" Strange asks. Based on his tone of voice, he's already realized the obvious: without the Ringmaster or with Ignatius at low power, they're fucked.

"This is not a fight we will win at all. And until the Ringmaster gets her act together or the others change their mind, I'm staying out here to help."

Syrlya gives Strange an incredulous look."Obviously everyone includes the Ringmaster, who is more powerful and responsible for the entire carnival to begin with."

And their ticket out. He looks over his shoulder briefly--but it's nothing, they're still unseen. "Hence why I intend to continue to look for her and if you are staying out here, so should you."

He is being difficult and petty but fuck it. Even now, in a crisis situation, Syrlya continues to talk down to him like he doesn't know what he's doing. Strange sighs a little before bluntly continuing,

"I know what I need to do and I plan on doing it. And besides: when have I ever done what you wanted?"

He'll still look for the Ringmaster. But on his own terms and after he looks for the others first. And with that, Strange starts to walk away in the opposite direction of Syrlya.

Syrlya bites his lip and looks briefly like he's about to pop Strange's head off. Because a crisis situation isn't the time for petty bickering.

But it's the same song and dance that's made Syrlya give up trying to work with Strange. Instead of responding, he looks down the hall once more before teleporting elsewhere in Shabon to continue his search.

Time passes, rescue attempts have been made, and Strange is a little on the crazy side at the moment. That alley that he set on fire remains on fire as Strange leisurely makes his way back to the temple. It's on this journey that Strange runs into Syrlya again, stares at him intently for a moment...then just keeps on walking.

"Go away," Strange remarks, with a dismissive hand gesture. "I know what you are, moss oak, and you won't trick me again."

It takes a bit of spinning around before he finally finds Strange, rapidly speeding up. He has the crown of fire on, just in case, but looking wilted and the ends of his leaves and his voice still comes out in occasional coughs. Plant poison sucks.

"Strange! There you--" And... then he calls him something else entirely.

There's a pause before Syrlya shakes his head and moves to catch up. "I am neither moss nor oak, Strange. It's Syrlya."

He's hallucinating, isn't he. Damn it. "Come, you remember the temple? Let me take you back there."

Strange continues to walk, seemingly indifferent to Syrlya's requests or mood and also seemingly indifferent to the clear and present danger.

"You are a moss oak...and whoever formed you must have been quite stupid." Strange makes a tut-tut-tut sort of clicking noise with his mouth. Still, it's not the poor tree's fault that he looks the way he does. "They should have made you take the shape of Lambert or Ignatius. Didn't you know that Syrlya hates me?"

Oh... so it's too deep an illusion for Syrlya to encourage him out of with words. Fantastic.

Syrlya moves to fall into step beside him, keeping his attention alert to their surroundings.

"Syrlya doesn't hate you." Sure, they're talking like this now. "He just finds you exasperating--look, if I look like Lambert will you come back to the temple with me?"

Strange gives Syrlya a look like he's a goddamn idiot. He knows what you are, plant! Looking like Lambert won't change that!

"I've changed my mind: you're stupid as well." Still, the moss oak is a lovely conversationalist so there's no harm in chatting as they stroll.

"Like I said, I know he hates me. I'm the only one who treats that silly position of his as meaningless as it is. He's let the damn thing go to his head."

Syrlya resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's difficult.

"Have you ever actually asked?" He knows he hasn't, Syrlya assumes because he doesn't actually care. It only matters to Strange if it suits him.

At least as long as he isn't looking at Strange it's not quite as obvious how his face twists sourly.

"Why should I?" Strange asks. "He's made his opinion clear enough. I don't need to get into yet another fight just to verify what I already know."

As Strange talks, he idly summons a bit of fire. He plays with the fire in his hand like some people play with play-dough, squishing it then pressing his fingers down in it and so on.

"Besides, it doesn't matter. Syrlya's a bore and Lambert trusts me with the important things. I shouldn't care what he thinks." Except from Strange's tone of voice, it's obvious he cares what Syrlya thinks.

Syrlya's shoulders bristle. Well, he tries not to hate Strange, but sometimes the man makes that very difficult.

"Well, if he matters so little to you that you think you know him better and have decided that's a bore to you, then no. You shouldn't care. You'll disregard it anyway."

That's more passive aggressive than he usually indulges in. But he's tired, wilting, stressed about everyone surviving including Strange, and currently stuck watching him until they make it to safety while he rags on him.

He's a little testy.

There's a pause while Strange continues to idly play with the fire.

"You really are a stupid tree," Strange muses, more to himself than to Syrlya. There's nothing judgmental in his voice: if anything, he finds it a bit amusing.

"I never said he didn't matter. He's a bore and a blowhard with a stick up his ass but he still matters to me. I'd have moved out if he didn't."

Don't slap him don't slap him don't slap him--

Syrlya takes a deep breath. "All right, humor me. Why don't you move out?"

Syrlya's being to wonder if he himself is just a masochist. A stubborn masochist.

"Because there was something once. It was a long time ago, when we talked about bloodstones and dragons, but it was there. And perhaps if I talk about magic or I drag him to a spa, I can find that something again."

But then the conversation swaps to Ignatius or Strange's own decisions, Syrlya wastes no time in berating him, and Strange starts to worry that the something has completely vanished.

There's a moment of silence as Syrlya looks sideways at Strange...and then shuffles a couple steps away when he sees Strange playing with fire. He might have a safety met, but he doesn't really want to test it.

Still, what he says makes him stop and consider what Strange is actually saying. It's not like he forgot the early part of their relationship, but...

"Well, I can tell you that only focusing on magic or distracting him with failed spa treatments won't find it," he huffs.

His tone falls a little lower, though, as he continues. "Those things aren't stories, Strange. They're my life. I didn't fall off the tree yesterday, yet you act like nothing I have told you means anything to my experience!"

He gestures with a finger from behind his shield. "As soon as it doesn't suit your feelings on the matter you completely disregard it!"

"How funny," Strange idly responds. "I could say the same thing. I am a soldier and a magician and yet he talks over me and acts like none of my decisions have merit."

It's weird the way Strange is addressing Syrlya. There's a light, breezy tone to his voice like this is just idle conversation and not two people awkwardly trying to work through issues.

"You mean your decision to throw yourself into Ignatius' service? Or your idea to use a powerful artifact no one knew enough about to lift your curse, as if that was going to be easy?" No, he doesn't consider a lot of those decisions to have merit.

"No Strange, I'm not going to consider a poorly planned out and fatally executed decision to have merit. If you would act with your mind instead of your heart, you would accomplish more. Instead, you throw yourself recklessly to terrible consequences that effect everyone else, especially people who care about you!"

"You've got it wrong," Strange continues, in a sing-song voice. "I didn't fatally execute anything. It's the fault of those three that I died."

And it will be his fault when Lambert dies, a small little voice points out in the back of his head. But no, he's not going to think about that now.

"Besides, I've accomplished plenty. I've done so much more for myself and the carnival than most people realize!"

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