.ESPYLACOPA

[rissa]

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[rissa]

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.ESPYLACOPA

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LIFE WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME.

.. AND FOR SOME, THAT FACT WAS EASIER TO PROCESS. SADLY, FOR THE ONES NOT READY--OR UNWILLING--TO ACCEPT THAT TRUTH, THEY WOULD FIND THEMSELVES AT THE UNPREJUDICED HANDS OF FATE.

SHE WOULD HAVE OTHER PLANS FOR THE SOULS TOUCHED BY ARCANA. FOR THEY WOULD WRITE THEIR OWN PATHS AND COLLECTIVELY, FORGE THE CREATION OF LIFE ANEW.

---

-- CHOOSE YOUR PATH --

Merl's Tavern
Three paths led to Merl's: one from the north, one from the northwest, and one from the southeast. Tucked away on a private ranch, Merl's Tavern was once known as the Calloway Estate, which hosted a quaint but high class bed-and-breakfast retreat. While it once hosted private get-togethers, honeymoons, and fine parties, the place is now prime real estate in the world after.

In the area surrounding the secret eden, dusk lingers for hours until finally gales of wind usher in a short blanket of darkness. When light rises so too does the temperature and often thunderstorms travel across the landscape in the afternoon hours.

Keen observation would allow one to realize that all three paths were strategically clear of large obstacles and despite the littering of the apocalypse, one could feel that the area was lived in.


First Church of Holy Requisition
A heavy mist hung around the area of Lake Lillinonah, as well as an ever-present fear that tested hope and strength of will. Nights fell early and dawn was forced to fight her way through every inch of darkness and dew that clung to the area. Days without mist were spent blistering hot and when the sun began to drop, so too did the temperature.

Bountiful as it is in blights and unease, Lake Lillinonah is also home to the First Church of Holy Requisition and an abundant amount of untouched supplies. The Holy Requisition is said to be the sword of light in a land of darkness and talk of its existence has spread across the east coast.

ᶲ​

Verity Longstrom stood outside the Wall, quite a few yards away from the men and women working on the Wall's expansion and fortifications. She took turns studying the horizon for danger and the work that was taking place. She stood atop a car, boots planted firmly, a jug of water was strung up with rope and hung from her shoulder, and around her neck rested a small set of binoculars. She'd been there for hours and her shift was coming to end swiftly.

She could feel the call, three of them to be exact, and it was time to speak with Mr. Cadogan.

ONE

God's Writ is hidden within Boston. The city is half-destroyed but oddly enough, plantlife has somehow survived. Not only survived… but thrived. Plantlife covers what's left of the city and like the city, not everything is recognizable. Staying in one place for too long will call forth creatures other than blights.

The Scepter of Faith is hidden within New Orleans. The city is drenched with water and almost continuously receive nightly downpours. The rain is clean, however, and completely drinkable. Mosquitos are rampant, as they've always been in swamps, but they've been altered by the magical energy here, and are as large as hummingbirds.

The Chalice of Truth is hidden within Savannah, Georgia. The city is oddly untouched by destruction. A few windows are broken in, some doors hang open on their hinges, cars strewn about the landscape… but unremarkably so. Hauntingly, the city still remains flesh and bones. A light blanket of snow falls every night and melts by mid-morning. Although blights are plentiful, they seem to be newlings, unformed and rather unintelligent.

TWO

A lot of things have been left vague -- quite on purpose, of course. Take complete creative freedom in introducing your character. The only thing I ask is that you leave me a clue in your post as to where your character is heading. As paths are chosen and characters come together, more descriptive information will be revealed regarding the location said paths lead to.

OBJECTIVES

Introduce your character. If you want to plot out relations with other PC's or any NPC's, now is the time to do so! To interact with the main storyline head towards a location of interest or if feelin' chancy, have your characters seek out an item of interest.

If you need a private plotting channel with another player, please let me know!

@CloudyBlueDay @darkflames13 @Mars Walker @Nemopedia
@Radio Jelly @Shizuochan @Tarieles
@Noctis the Devious

LOCATIONS OF INTEREST

• Merl's Tavern

• The First Church of Holy Requisition

ITEMS OF INTEREST

• God's Writ

• Scepter of Faith

• Chalice of Truth

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.PHASE ONE; A1:S1

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[Noctis the Devious]

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Ace of Pentacles
Southeast Path​

---

Ace, even before the apocalypse, wasn't good with people. People like them were either expected to come out of their shells sooner or later or live in the shadows of those confident enough to take what they want. Who knew there was a third option? Wait for the downfall of civilization and gain unique abilities that gave one shortcuts straight through socializing.

No longer did they have to suffer through small talk and bumble through the awkwardness that came with budding relationships. It was either they chose to be ignored, to be a complete nobody, or be an old friend and treated accordingly (ideally anyway). It was this anonymity that perhaps gave Ace the confidence to just walk straight up to people without worrying how they may come off and treat others as if they've known each other for years.

It was this unique ability Ace was hoping to use to swindle their way to cheap food and board. They didn't exactly have much on them with the only items of worth being their jar of honey and a bottle of whiskey. They didn't want to trade away either of these items no matter how badly they wanted a meal that wasn't pemmican and an actual bed to sleep on. But they didn't have much else; nothing they wouldn't need anyway. Maybe their flashlight? Good for exploring dark places but otherwise night travel was stupid and it was better to travel by the light of the moon anyway least you drew unwanted attention to yourself. Sometimes even a fire was pushing it.

Behind the face mask they wore, they huffed, kicking at some loose pebbles. If they were really desperate they could use their other ability and attempt to convince the tavernkeeper it was the rocks that were special instead of being acted upon by an unforeseen force, but that was both too shady and dangerous. Maybe they should try focusing their efforts on someone else to try and have them pay for them. Anything for an old friend right?

---

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[Mars Walker]

[size= 6]

[color= #ffffff]Bijou Lécuyer.[/color]​

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[color= #ffffff]{The Magician}[/color]​

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Bijou came from the north, walking quietly while thinking to herself. It had honestly been a while since she'd been with a group of people- and she was starting to feel the effects of going without human contact for some time. She was bored, a little hungry, and she often heard phantom footsteps. The footsteps both excited her and put her on the ready to attack and defend herself.

She had begun to wonder if people were really a thing that existed anymore, or if she were the most unlucky human alive. If that were the case, then what was the point of going on any longer? If Bijou were going to be completely honest with herself, it was pure curiosity and a dangling shred of hope that kept her going. She was hardly aware of how much time has passed- but she had counted the days.

Bijou took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, singing gently to herself to fill the silence.

"La mer
Qu'on voit danser
Le long des golfes clairs
A des reflets d'argent
La mer
Des reflets changeants
Sous la pluie..."

She sighed again, looking down at her feet as she walked. There was dried blood stained on her boots, and a bit more spattered on her socks. Bijou would rather forget how the blood got there, but unfortunately it was all she could think about sometimes. She lifted her eyes from her boots and focused on the path again, taking note of how clear it was. It was because the path was so well taken care of that Bijou still held hope for finding people, and maybe a place to rest.

"Just a bit longer, petit magicien, perhaps your patience will be rewarded." She spoke to herself, a small smile playing on her lips. Perhaps if she manipulate dher luck, she would come across a group of fellow humans. It seemed like there was a chance that there would be, so luck was apparently already on her side.

"De bonnes choses arrivent à ceux qui attendent, non?."

∞​

 

[Aero Blue]

---

ROJO FURNEAUX
Path: to the Church, from the East.

---

The scent of autolysis, and the wretched aroma of bodily slick and ruptured skin stretched through the blissful, neutral aromas of mist and dew. The fragrance was acidic, a brand that cut through a singular delusion with facility so striking, so merciless in its per-function that it was macabre; this mist was no spring-mist of the tranquil lake, it was the mire of a world passed-by, a world that continued to spin on its axis only in so far as to remind itself of its falling. And by now, Rojo assumed the acrid edge of the stench to have pervaded him, particulates latching on to his sweat-ridden suit, soaking into the fibers, and undergoing some process that could best be described as 'congealing'.

If the world were as poetical as the artisans and zealots of the world-passed claimed, so very indulgent in symmetries uncanny, then the pervading stench of death should have reflected on Rojo as well. He should have, in his mind, played the part; lone wanderer beset by carnage, carrying on stolidly with gun-hand and true-grit. Withered and weak (and, decidedly, unarmed) as he was, however, Rojo had long since decided he wasn't fit for that particular role, and in the interest of the 'carrying-on', adopted another: the smiling fool whistling some tune that - its whistler having not heard a kindred song in quite some time - shifted and permeated until it became a formless, inconstant melody.

Rojo had no reason to be made somber by the stench of death. After all, he had brought it close upon himself, and all for the sake of merry, blessed company!

Lingering behind the gaunt, suited Furneaux-man (quite possibly, one might somberly speak of a myriad clans and names, the last of them) was a slobbery, grey titan of rather uncharitable construction. Elephantine legs supported a mountainous heap of adipose matter, fat so plentiful it cascaded, surges of flesh that crashed down like waves and hung down past its waist, mercifully obstructing its myriad obscenities. The drooping jowls of its face glowed with a gluttonous pink, its nose protruded and hung over its mouth, and the sockets of its eyes were empty - silver coins of some unknown currency, swinging from the end of brilliant, emerald-adorned gold lace hung over the empty caverns.

Its arms, contrasting the rest of its form, were spindly, almost skeletal in their lack of substance. They were, however, many. A dozen or more sticks of bone forever outstretched, its fingers wiggling and waggling of their own accord, ad infinitum. Forever reaching, longing, wanting. Together, the arms buoyed the weight of the corpse, the vessel this unseemly shade had been drawn from. By the time Rojo had come across his dead form, the man had already been foaming bloody at the nose and mouth. Now, the surface of his body had begun to take on the 'give' of liquefaction.

"When I see a name in the obituaries, or on a headstone, I like to play a kind of game:..." Rojo pipped to his unresponsive companion, "... I think only the best. I imagine only the grandest of things, of what they could have been, what they were like. For instance!"

Rojo's cheery form spun slowly with the sloth of weakness, although his face beamed with a happy strength, "You ate well, obviously! Connecticut boy. Mac and cheese. Fried chicken. Exceptional table manners, although you maybe ate a smidge too fast, or went up for thirds a tad too early. But I like to imagine you always complimented your mother on her cooking.

You always had a taste for things that were pretty. Maybe as a kid you were into those promise bracelets, charm necklace. You're an artisan, more taken by the poetry of jewellery than the show of it, the lavish ceremony, the status.

And your fingers." Rojo paused, hand cupping his chin as if he were deep in the musing, "Generous lover, perhaps. Or you played the piano. Am I wrong?"

He spun back, quickly enough that it was evident Rojo was aware of the delusion, the self-deception, aware that no affirmation or denial was forthcoming. That he was, in fact, alone. Nonetheless, trying for the illusion was, in many ways, better than nothing at all. It sustained him the rest of the ways, and carrying the stench of death for the journey had proven worthwhile by the time it was near its end.

He could make out what must have been at-least something 'holy' when he bid of his colossus to stop. Rojo turned, his hand - gnarled from malnutrition - patting the thing's wretched belly, "And now, it's time for goodbyes, friend. I can't imagine church-folk will take kindly to your desecration. Go… put yourself down, somewhere quiet and nice-enough looking."

I've enjoyed our talks.

 

[Radio Jelly]

The Bright Path
A Collab Between @rissa and @Radio Jelly ​

This night, like most nights on lake Lillinonah, had been restless for Cadogan. To the others who had joined him along the way, the dark brought a similar stress: the constant and unceasing blight threat, the fear of wandering off too far in the night, and--even in one's downtime--the long labor yet required to erect a wall against the unceasing onslaught. It was hard for all his flock, but though Cadogan was often spared the immediate fear of doom, he felt alone in his agonizing over the future. Much as he knew in his heart that the church was supposed to be their new home, doubts plagued Cadogan's mind about what they should've been doing next. What if he was wrong? What if a sunrise had just been a sunrise? Were there greener pastures on the other side of the lake?

It wasn't for Cadogan to decide: the de facto pastor didn't patrol the walls, or go on resource runs or explore the outer limits. That wasn't his duty. Instead, he sat cross-legged in the church's sacristy, a smattering of bibles, artifacts, and journals nestled around him. The young man had rolled his white sleeves up to his elbows, and his slacks were scuffed and marked at the knees. With one trembling hand, Cadogan tried to sweep his sweat-stained bangs out of his eyes, but the many long hours kneeling over his journals and holy books had made it a fruitless task: just so soon as he returned to his work did gravity undo his his best efforts. The followers had made a home out of the church's grounds, but Cadogan had turned the sacristy into his own personal office. It was an added blessing that the door locked properly considering the church patriarch often finished such sessions looking less-than-inspiring. This night was one such time.

So long had he been at his work, that Cadogan had barely noticed the dark of the night sky begin to transition to the soft blues of dawn. Though the first, baby-blue hues began to illuminate the windows' exterior, Cadogan remained hellbent on his work. Feverishly, the born-again patriarch began yet another transcription into his journal. His personal book was becoming something akin to a collage of mismatched parts: from both his bible and his bhagavad gita, Cadogan had copied particularly poignant verses, or, at least, what he determined to be poignant. It was but a passing fancy of course. The mystery surrounding his abilities, and what they meant grew by the day, and his books offered little recourse.

Cadogan's eyes drifted over the pages of his journal, too tired to focus on or understand the words he had written therein. As if in a trance, the church patriarch began to transcribe verses in autopilot, mumbling the chosen lines in a belabored breath.

"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you…" Cadogan paused, his gaze seemingly frozen upon the page. The first rays of the early morning sun began to creep from behind him, slowly illuminating the floorboards as he spoke, until the light began to dance across the page. Only as it did so, did Cadogan break through the fugue state he was in.

In the time since the end, Cadogan had become something of a self-proclaimed expert in interpreting signs, therefore it came as no surprise when, by the light's touch, the words became manifest. Almost as soon as he came to, Cadogan's head snapped back, his eyes fluttering from one place to the next. A deep, and surreal attraction drew Cadogan's gaze northbound, and for a moment he could almost see it: a sprawling text in long lost script, wreathed in the gold of the dawn's rays. Just as soon as he felt the pull did it disappear, but not before Cadogan saw a bay-side city long lost to the cataclysm, and a draw to the far northeast. He'd been there once or twice in better times, and knew it to be Boston as though by premonition. Perhaps it was.

It was a call, but not one he knew how to heed. If he left the church to its devices it would surely fall: without his on-demand healing powers, the nightly blight incursions would surely overrun their small band of intrepid survivors.

Still, a sign was a sign.

Some thirty odd minutes later, Cadogan had changed, combed his hair, and washed himself as best as the church's rudimentary sanitation chambers allowed before setting back out into the public gardens. As Cadogan passed by, he doled out gentle morning greetings to the few awake parishioners, standing tall despite the proverbial weight upon his shoulders. As he approached the wall, his eyes darted from one guard unto the next, settling on a familiar face. The shift was due to change soon, which meant he would need to get what information he could from Verity while she was still on guard. He trusted the others well enough, but there was something about the Longstrom girl that put him to ease.

Without the slightest hint of hesitation in his step, Cadogan climbed up onto the walls, pausing a couple feet from Verity. With a tired, though knowing smile, Cadogan asked, "So? How did we do? Anything go bump in the night while I was gone?"

Verity returned the pastor's cordial smile before answering. "Nope!" She laughed softly, almost quietly, before shaking her head with a sigh. "The more we build, the more they seem to stay away. It's been so long since anyone's felt safe.

"It's only possible because of you."

Verity shrugged and continued on quickly, not entirely sure how to bring up the physical pull she could feel in her chest.

"If you don't mind me saying, Mr. Cadogan, I think clearing a bit of debris from the northeast and northwest might be beneficial."

Cadogan chuckled at the formality in Verity's tone, before looking himself in both of the directions Verity mentioned. The only benefit Cadogan had noticed in trying to construct their fledgling home from scrap and salvage was that it was a fairly easy task to replace and rebuild when necessary. Looking over the areas in question, Cadogan was in agreement with Verity's assessment.

Turning back to Verity, Cadogan couldn't help but feel proud of her keen judgement. "I don't mind you saying at all. You are right. We are going to need more space if we hope to make this place more self sufficient. That's not to mention anything of how we've grown…" Cadogan's voice trailed off as he admired the early morning bustle of his reclaimers. They were a small commune, but they worked like a village. The decreasing blight threat was evidence enough of that.

"But Verity… let one of the boys handle that. There's something else… something I need your help with." It was still all so new to him--the powers, the visions, and the responsibility. Sometimes, even after months of confirmation after confirmation, Cadogan felt embarrassed trying to explain anything of the divine.

"This morning I had a premonition of sorts. There's something drawing me towards… well, something. I get that isn't terribly much to go on, but I have this feeling pressing against my chest. There's something in Boston. I didn't really see too much, but its a script of sorts. I have not the slightest idea what it is, nor what it does and I understand that a road trip northeast is probably the last thing you'd want considering the relative safety here."

Cadogan paused, feeling slightly guilty in his asking. "But I believe it's a test of our character. I can't leave these people in the dark, and yet I know that we must have this thing. So… would you reclaim it for us? You've experienced your fair share of monsters in the dark, more than many here and your faith in our path is strong."

The young woman held her breath as the pastor spoke, relaying both comfort and unease as he maneuvered his way through his speech. Of course Mr. Cadogan would feel the pull, as powerful as he was... But she? Verity was a young woman and though his comments on her experiences were true, she didn't feel worthy of them. Of the gifts she had. The things she could do...

"Will it help us?" Verity asked softly, turning on her heel slightly so she could face the pull head on. "Even if it'll only help us for a day, there isn't anything I wouldn't reclaim. And thank you," Ver said with a bow of her head in regards to his last remark.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you, Mr. Cadogan, I just..." She trailed off with a huff, momentarily refusing to take her eyes off the horizon. Reaching into her pocket, Verity removed a rock crystal, small and smooth to the touch. She handed it to the pastor with a smile. "Please keep this with you once I leave."

Cadogan accepted the stone in reverence, his eyes darting between Verity's token, and the girl herself. There were plenty who weren't ready in the way she was, and though Cadogan asked nothing of the few survivors who had made it thus far, Verity's faith in him had a rejuvenating effect. Others might have approached the church for safety's sake, but Cadogan hoped to one day be the man that the young lieutenant thought him to be for all his flock.

"It will do more than help, Verity." Cadogan examined the immaculate token a moment more, before continuing. "It's not about what we want. Whatever pulls at the strings of fate, it has demanded our compliance in this--my compliance."

Cadogan sighed, before once more turning out towards the wilds. "Your faith in our task is admirable. I know you are devoted to my purpose, but the choice is truly yours. I'll not make you go chasing after a dream, but if you do, I'll equip you with anything you might need." Cadogan smirked, his mind drifting back to the darker times before the church. "I can grant you strength, sight, or speed to aid you in your journey should you decide to take it on, but I am serious--I won't have one of my best running after a half-remembered dream over nothing. Are you sure you're up to it? It won't be easy, and there's no doubt in my mind that Boston is at least twice as dangerous as this backwater village." Cadogan turned to the girl, and placed a reassuring hand upon her shoulder.

"So Verity," Cadogan's smile faded, the first signs of exhaustion leaking through his well-crafted visage. "Are you sure you're willing to risk so much for a dream so vague?" The church patriarch smiled as he spoke, his tone humorous despite the seriousness of his request. Cadogan had no doubt she would, of course: what he asked of her would be the ultimate test of her allegiance--the ultimate test of her faith. She was one of the few truly allied to his vision, and though Cadogan knew that it was a serious risk to ask so much of her, he also knew that there would be no future for his cause without followers like Verity.

"I don't think the dream is as vague as you think, Mr. Cadogan," Verity said slowly, lips trembling with guilt and fear before finally spilling her secrets. "There's this--this pull in my chest, calling me towards something. And I think it's what you had a premonition of."

Verity stumbled over her words for a moment, before taking a deep breath and calming her nerves. "I don't talk much about, you know, when everything was Dark, but I-I learned a lot, about myself and the world and the monsters... and things."

Clearing her throat, Verity pointed towards the rock crystal still in Cadogan's hand. "That's one half of a whole. Wherever one is, so is the other. I-- It may help us stay in touch... because I think I was meant to reclaim this for you."

Her brows furrowed as she trailed off in thought. "I'm not sure if it'd be fair, Mr. Cadogan... To grant me anything. I rather you continue to use it to protect our flock. Rations and supplies will suffice, I think."

Cadogan regarded the girl's admissions and half truths with intrigue, before accepting her gift. He glanced at the stone for a moment, and then back to Verity. Was it some token, or was there something more to the pull Verity felt? The church patriarch closed a fist around the stone, before gripping Verity's shoulder with his other hand.

"Nonsense." A suffused flash of light burst beneath Cadogan's palm, warm and golden light trailing upwards from beneath the gaps in his fingers. Beneath his grasp, a deep, strengthening warmth began to spread outward from Verity's shoulder and across the entire surface of her body. If anything, his conversation with the girl, and new curiosity in her convictions, only reinforced his earlier premonition. Cadogan's confidence in their path had been rebuilt, and--if the pull in Verity's chest was indeed like his own--he trusted that the Divine could use her as proxy. For a moment, as he stood staring into the morning mists, Cadogan felt like a fool for having ever thought otherwise.

"This new test is before us now, and now I believe you have a special part to play. A part I cannot know. Another lesson in faith for me, and bright path for you. All I ask is that you bring back any lost wanderers with you. Otherwise, do not dally: you have permission to take whatever we have in the shed that you feel you may need, but afterwards you must hurry."

Cadogan waited until ten minutes had elapsed before withdrawing his hand, and gesturing for the girl's dismissal. From Verity's form radiated the Piercing Light he had bolstered her endurance with, and though it wouldn't be immediately obvious to her, Cadogan could see that several of the other wall-guard had already noticed her glow, magnified by the dawn sun. It was a sight indeed.

 

[Nemopedia]

Macondo; Taviraj; Quattrocento Sans;

Amaris Mooney

The Moon - Merl's Tavern; Northwest

What if humanity is a fungus…

The thought suddenly popped up, scathing, bitter, resentful, everything that Amaris had tried not to focus on in the days past. However, with a sight as sober and solemn as the area surrounding her the female felt that there was little else she could focus on.

Once this place had been full of colour, Amaris was sure of it. Just like the rest of the world had been before darkness descended upon them. It had bleached all colour away, leaving behind a grayscale, a figment of what had been the past, a blur and filled with dreariness.

Consuming the world…

She pinched her eyes. The path was long and empty, unnaturally so and it kept her on edge. While grateful for some paved road it made Amaris paranoid, her mind constantly imagining shadows looming. The lack of company made her fear even more, afraid of the lack of life surrounding her, afraid that the void would suddenly be consumed and filled, just like her thoughts did, just like humanity did.

Burn…

She hadn't slept much as of late. Dreaming terrified her, more so than her surroundings did. The constant comparison of humanity being a fungus not helping. The last words of she had read in a book she randomly picked up, these last words she saw before darkness fell upon her, they rang hard and long within her ears.

Lifting her eyes her shoulders slumped. Finally, a building rose up at the horizon. Shelter, it meant and perhaps some company for the path was too well-maintained to be abandoned. Amaris imagined herself meeting the people within, how she would introduce herself and convince them to have her tag along. She imagined all that as she also thought of fungus and of fire.

They were merely rising from the ashes.

 

[Tarieles]

---

​

Marching down the northern path with some purpose, Arthur kept himself alert for anyone who may intend him harm. He was mostly concerned with bandits and the like, people who preyed on the weak. He was not weak, not in the least, but even he knew he could fall if taken by surprise.

His feet moved quickly, the sound of his pack bumping against his back with every step. While not incredibly loud, it was by no means quiet. It helped that the path seemed well maintained. It meant there may have been someone at the end of it. People who needed his leadership.

As he continued on, movement ahead of him had him stopping. He peered at the figure, seeing it was a lone figure. Female? If she was alone and not dead, that likely meant she had a means to defend herself. Approaching would have to be done cautiously, if at all.

Picking up his pace once again, Arthur wasn't particularly close to the figure. He did walk quickly, hoping to close distance between them, but was also cautious. He wouldn't go in without readying to protect himself. He might frighten her and cause a reaction. Just because he knew he was to be the rightful king of the new world did not mean he didn't need to keep himself safe. If anything, it meant he had to be even more careful.

Finally catching up to the figure, who did indeed look to be a female, he still kept a slight distance as he pondered whether or not to call out to her. Before he could make that decision, his foot caught a rock on the road, kicking it forward with a loud clatter. He froze, preparing himself in case she turned out to be hostile. He hardened his skin, readying to defend himself if necessary.

@Mars Walker​