entrancelogs | Forest Mingle (OUTSIDE)

Entry tags:

Forest Mingle (OUTSIDE) | OPEN

Who: EVERYONE
Where: The Forest outside the Darn Lantern!
When: 1/15/16 -1/18/16 - The duration of the event!
Rating: Probably PG-13, will vary by thread.
Summary: Oh boy. I guess we're really doing this, huh. A log for getting lost in the forest.
The Story:

But it really is tight quarters in the Tavern, and some might be curious to see what else is out there. Maybe there's another place to stay out there, or something. Maybe the Beast Alice spoke of lurking

However, it's very dangerous out in the woods. The farther away from the tavern someone wanders, the more lost they'll become. The rain will pour down harder, but if they listen carefully they'll hear a voice in the distance singing low and dark. No one will ever see the Beast himself, but one of three things will happen if a character ventures out in the woods.

1) If they turn around quickly (within 10-15 minutes) they may make it back to the Tavern safely, even if they lost others in the process. Others may attempt rescues as well, but the general rule is if a character is more than ten to fifteen minutes away from the tavern they will not survive.

2) They become horribly lost in the dark no matter how good they are at navigating normally, and they are left alone with their thoughts. The longer they're out in the woods, the more they'll lose hope that they'll ever find their way out again. And what's the point anyway? Even if they get out, it's not like they'll ever be able to leave Wonderland. Maybe they have regrets or reasons to believe they deserve to be in the woods. Dark thoughts will cloud their minds, and they'll start losing their will to go on.

3) They become horribly lost in the dark no matter how good they are at navigating normally, but if they're not consumed by dark thoughts (because they're more optimistic or have a stronger will) then they will last a little longer, but eventually the temperature will drop significantly. They're already soaking wet so they'll start to succumb to hypothermia from there.

Those who become lost will eventually be compelled to sit down at the base of a tree because they no longer have the strength to go on either mentally (#2) or physically (#3). They'll grow tired and after they've fallen asleep, oily roots will begin to grow around them, until eventually they become part of the tree they're laying against. As the tavern legend goes, "Once your will begins to spoil, he'll turn you to a tree of oil". If they become an Edelwood tree, it will count as a mansion death, and they will not revive until after the event ends.

(Lost? Perhaps you're looking for the inside log or the event information.)

Threaded | Flat

any of the first few days; open to all

There's a song humming out in the dark. It tickles the contours of his mind, tugs back an awful sick memory, and he can't quite grasp it. If it's out there, it wants him. If it wants him, it won't stop until it gets its long-reaching fingers hitched into his skin.

Not if he finds it first.

The Puppet cuts a bold line through the trees, lantern in one hand and an old busted-up camera in the other, glancing swiftly from either side in search of this Beast everyone keeps going on and on about. He's got a Beast of his own to contend with. He doesn't need another one on the side.

But he has to make sure this Beast isn't...his Beast.

Because he might be the Puppet, but he sure as hell isn't a goddamn puppet. Nothing pulls his strings. Nothing ever did. He made every choice of his own free will, even the less forgivable ones, and he got past it like a goddamn pro.

If he runs into anyone, it might be enough to sway him to turn back for the time being. He can't let anyone else see it. It can't stain the heads of any other innocents.

He'd hate to have to kill them too.

one of the last few days probably; closed to sharon carter

He's so...tired.

The lantern's stilling flame has begun to flicker tenuously with each fresh gust of wind, and the cold air is like knives even though the trees should be blocking all that shit out. His camera - fuck, where did his camera - it's gone, it's gone, he must've dropped it.

The Puppet sinks to his knees, scrabbling through the dirt and leaf mulch, overturning sticks and rocks in his desperation until his fingers are numb and stained black with mud. Where is it where is it. He can't keep going without it. He can't keep going. He can't keep going. Not like this.

He can't keep going.

The Puppet hunches on his patch of ground, desperation leaking into his voice as he begins to murmur aloud with increasing fervency variations of the phrase, "where is it, where is it, please, please please - "

Until finally, lost, cold, alone, shivering, he huddles on the ground at the foot of a tree and waits for the lantern's flame to go out.

Edited 2016-01-15 07:43 (UTC)

15th, evening

[ There is someone in the woods, she's sure of it. The Warden had been enjoying the warmth and company in the tavern, had been perfectly content to stay there... and, really, she'd only just stepped outside for air when the strangest feeling began prickling at her skin, like someone brushing fingers at the back of her neck. Someone is there. ]

Hello? [ She stands with a hand still on the door, just about to go back inside, but... the feeling persists, and she's never been very good at going against her gun instinct. The Hound, at her side, whines and shrinks down, which has her thinking twice. After all, mabari are very smart and brave, and if he doesn't want to go into the forest, then there must be a reason.

... All the same, the sound of a distant voice solidifies the decision. Ignoring the rain, the Warden tries gently to assuage the fears of her dog, but is unable to do so. He continues to cry, pitifully, and remains rooted firmly near the tavern door. ]

Stay, then. I'll just be a moment.

[ And she pats him on the head before beginning out through the trees. There doesn't seem to be much of a path, but that doesn't stop her, and neither is she dissuaded by the potential for danger. Not when her entire life of late has been camping in the wilds and fending off monsters. How much worse could these parts be, really

The voice again. It's barely there, as if she might be imagining it, but the Warden knows for sure that someone, or something, is calling out. ]

Are you there? Are you hurt?

late that night

[ She can't regret venturing into the woods, not when she'd been so sure that there was someone out there who needed help. It had started to sour before long, though, with the shadows falling fast and the trees, all the same, indistinguishable from one another. The Warden turned back after a while, unable to find the potential victim and deciding to bring back more people to search, but couldn't find the way. The woods closed their gates back up and turned her around, branches closing in a spindly embrace.

The Warden is resilient and hardy and used to the wilds, to some extent, but it isn't fatigue or any other physical ailment that consumes her. It's a sickness of the mind, like the creeping, enormous roots of the surrounding woods have reached up and dig firmly into her thoughts. Fear settled there before long, causing the young woman to carry her crossbow, eyes wide and alert. There is certainly something in the forest, but it isn't helpless by any means. If anything, the creature is the predator and, having lured a hapless person into its trap, is on the hunt. ]

Stay away! [ She fires a bolt into a tree opposite, where she thought she'd see a streak of shadow, but it doesn't hit any mark. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on her face and she breathes heavily, heart pumping adrenaline through her system. It doesn't last for very long, not with the despondent submission taking hold, and she presses her back to a tree with a breathy sob and sinks down against it.

Serves me right for being a fool. The Warden shuts her eyes tight, trying to will herself to her feet, but it's much easier said than done. Maybe now you'll learn to stay out of others' business, meddling girl. And it's true, isn't it? She's wormed her way into others' lives much more than she should, and in this case, trying to find answers brought her to the base of this tree. It all seems so stupid, now, enough to bring the angry buzz of her mind to a dull roar, one almost sleepy in its acceptance of what seems to be an inevitable fate.

And the singing continues, too, not very far away... ]

16th, afternoon

[ The tavern is way too crowded. For being a bigger guy already, The Hunter steps outside for a minute to just breathe, hands planted on his hips, brow furrowed. Things have gotten weird, lately, and not in the usual way. From being unable to say their own names to being squashed like a hundred sardines into a can in the tavern, Wonderland definitely has new crazy up its sleeves. The man heaves a sigh, glancing over his shoulder at the door and stepping farther away, moving around the side of the building to lean against it.

There's also the problem of having animals in that place. Neither of his pets have responded well to the crowd; Leo seems excited to the point of exploding and Minnie has shied away from the mess as much as possible, whining softly. In the end, he brings them both at with him, and the two, grateful dogs sit at his feet. ]

We can stay out here, but you'll get cold. And wet. [ The Hunter advises, squatting to ruffle their fluffy heads. Leo, a golden retriever, lets his tongue loll from his mouth and begins to roll in the mud as if to be contrary. Minnie, a little Portuguese water dog, sits, dignified, and continues to squeak unhappily. ]

Either it's out here in the weather or in there with the people. Your choice.

[ Not really, but. The Hunter glances up from the animals to look toward the forest; he's seen a few people go in and... most of them have come out. But there'd been warnings about the place and he can hear it, the singing, the unearthly call of a monster than inevitably lurks between the trees. He stands and watches it for a while, face passive, maybe a little more curious than he should be. ]

I think you'd have to be an idiot to go in there, guys.

18th, night

[ He is an idiot and he is in the woods. The Hunter crashes through the underbrush, not accompanied by anyone or anything else, pisol tight in his hands. There is absolutely something in the forest and it's not anything he's come across before. There haven't been the usual signs or tracks and the singing alone is enough to make him wonder, had driven him into the trees in the first place. It had been half because he knew people were stuck there, it's true, but a part of him, the part that earned his title, gave him that last, stupid push.

He doesn't fire needlessly. Even though there are shadows under his eyes and his throat is beyond parched, even though he hasn't stopped or slowed since he walked away from the tavern, he isn't reckless. Not any more so than having done what he did, anyway. ]

C'mon... [ The Hunter mutters, watching like a hawk, weapon raised and ready. A shotgun or rifle would be much better for this, but they'd come as they were and he hadn't completely thought this plan through before it happened. Before long, he'd become almost manic with weariness and, having not taken care of himself.

If I could just sit down for a second- But that's how they get you, so often, lulling you to sleep or toward a trap. Even though his body is rapidly giving out and he's gotten mildly paranoid, he can't sit, not for a moment, no matter how nice it would be to rest... ]

[The Pine Tree has noticed a bunch of people watching the front door and giving people trouble when they try to leave. Apparently everyone's as convinced as the Pilgrim is that they shouldn't leave. But Dipper can't just ignore a mystery. If there's something in the woods, he needs to learn what it is. He can't fight against an unknown factor. So he has to make it known.

Luckily, he has the Shooting Star. She's always down for an adventure, and her infinite nicknames means he won't have to hear that name again. He hopes.

He glances around as they make their way to a darkened corner of the tavern, then he climbs on a table and props open the window.]

Is anyone looking at us?

Edited 2016-01-18 04:01 (UTC)

A. The Woods, not far from the tavern | OTA

[It's pouring, and even with his umbrella from the Rickiest Rick, the Charlatan still feels like a drowned rat out in the rain. Normally he wouldn't even splurge for one, but he figures it'll keep his light lit longer - which isn't one of the normal lanterns, but a prototype flashlight given to him by the Rickiest Rick, with a flame inside and an assortment of things to make it shine bright in whatever direction he points it in. The longer his light lasts, the more time he'll have to find the Pine Tree, the Shooting Star, and the Author of the Journals - his brother.

But wow, calling out for them is a pain in the ass.]

Pine Tree? Shooting Star? The Author of the Journals, My Brother?

[This is so stupid. Their names are stupid. His clothes are stupid. Being out in the woods is stupid after everything that Pilgrim kid said. But of course, no one listened to the Charlatan and now they're all in danger. But maybe if he can just find them before anything happens, they'll all make it through this event in one piece.

If he listens carefully he can hear that creepy song in the distance, so he's doing his best not to. The only thing he wants to hear right now is someone calling back to him. So far he's doing his best to keep the Tavern in sight and keep track of where he's going, but everything looks the same out here and that can only last so long.]

B. Deep in the Woods | Closed

[The Charlatan's getting tired. He lost sight of the tavern hours ago and just kept going anyway. Even with something to shield him from the rain he's getting cold and he's starting to run out of stamina. He's going slower, but every time he notices it he tries to make himself pick up the pace again.]

...Pine Tree? Shooting Star...? [No answer.] The-- The Author of the...The Author of your name is too goddamn long!

[He lets out one last desperate shout, not caring for the moment if the kids catch him cursing, and then he leans against a nearby tree. The branches above him are sufficient enough cover that he sets down both the umbrella and the flashlight and just...stops for a minute, to rest. He can feel the cold right down to his bones and at first the thinks he's imagining it all and being a baby about the weather, but then he realizes he can actually see his breath. It really is cold.

It's enough to make him slide down against the trunk of the tree, all the way to the wet ground, as if huddling by his flashlight will be enough - with its little flame it's probably better than nothing, right? He should get up. He should get up, because moving will keep him warm. If he can just keep going...

But he can't. He's so freaking tired. How long has he even been out here anyway? It's hard to keep track of time when it's always night and always pouring. Eventually though, the thought creeps in that maybe they're back at the Tavern. Maybe they never got that far from the place and Stan's been out here looking for nothing. That's just how his life goes, isn't it? He can try and try and try and he never actually gets anywhere. He's a loser; he's-- he has to get up and find the kids. Find Ford. He can't seem to make his knees work though, can't do anything except lean against the tree and curl in on himself for warmth.

It's weirdly comfortable though (or maybe he just doesn't care whether it's comfortable or not anymore), and between the rain and the low melody in the distance he can feel himself being lulled to sleep. But it's just sleep. It's just a nap to get his strength back up and then he'll keep going. He has to. It might be the only worthwhile thing he ever does with his life, and even with his tiredness it's a dark thought he can't shake. It's far from the only one, and the longer he sits there the more quickly they come. Are they even going to care he's lost out here looking for them? Ugh, he doesn't want to think about it. He just wants to sleep.

Eventually, his flashlight goes out. The Charlatan has gone still, and oily roots slither up and start to wrap around him, hugging him closer to the tree.]

Edited 2016-01-19 05:33 (UTC)

[ Cullen doesn't grow fonder of the finery over the evening. Halamshiral's applause ebbs quietly over his shoulders, dull behind closed balcony doors. A moment's respite after a long day's work, just a brief moment's respite. He exhales, closes his eyes, and-- ]

What in the Maker's name...

[ --and when he opens them the palace has fallen silent, and rain pours down on his head. His hands are empty, cold in their gloves, no marble balustrade underneath his palms. The gardens are closer. The gardens are no gardens at all, only trees upon trees. His breath catches in his throat hard, and he reaches for a blade that isn't there.

He thinks he sees a faint light in the distance, and cannot say if the right way leads towards, or away from it.

If there is a right way at all. ]

[She was horribly lost. That had become apparent after only 15 minutes. Every turn she made, she felt as though she were passing by the same stump and rock. The woods around her had closed in. The darkness had surrounded her. Only a faint gleam of her green cloak managed to stand out against the shadows.

Pausing to rest and catch her bearings, The Beauty leaned against the stump, rubbing at her cold feet. The rain had soaked all of her clothes and the cold was beginning to set in. That chill she hoped to avoid returned, which could turn deadly unless she did something about it.

There was the possibility of a fire, but the branches would be damp. There was little chance of it staying lit, if she was extremely lucky in setting it ablaze.

Her only option was to keep moving. But in what direction?]

Threaded | Flat

no subject

the warden ; ota

the hunter ; ota

the pines family good choice brigade } closed

The Charlatan

The Ex-Templar, 01/18