exsangui: [insomniatic.] (2serious mod stuff.)
SANGUI mod. ([personal profile] exsangui) wrote in [community profile] sangui2021-10-09 09:06 pm
Entry tags:

MOD PLOT | the pain of changing,





๐–‚๐–Š๐–‘๐–ˆ๐–”๐–’๐–Š ๐–™๐–” ๐•พ๐–†๐–“๐–Œ๐–š๐–Ž


You awake.

That in itself is notable.

Perhaps you remember your dream in vivid detail- perhaps not. What matters is, you're here now. under the earth. You can feel the chill of wind, hear the cries of bats. Anyone wounded will be tended to by two clerics in dour robes of black and white. They say they are servants of the Riven God, and they are here to help you, Their chosen.

You may speak to them at any point, and they will answer questions to the best of their ability.

Likewise, they will have many objects blessed by the Riven God, to help Coffin Sleepers. Censers, coffins, gallows gristle, dirt from the graves of murderers, and the blood of something called a 'widowmaker' are the most common objects, but ask if you want something else. There is only one pre-used noose, first come first serve.

As they lead you through, the scent of salt becomes very strong, and you often hear the sound of rushing water. The clerics are very careful to keep everyone from some of the cave network, which they say is flooded.

Slowly, the scent of fresh air goes stronger. The caves begin to look carved, specifically like some sort of altars with lit votive candles, meticulously maintained. Vasili and Rohese may take time to clean these altars, re-light candles, before pressing forward.

Finally, the shadows break.



You are at the bottom of a well. Vasili cautions you: "You can go up, but... it leads right to the churchyard of Kismet."

Rohese chimes in: "It is holy ground."

And it is, of course, daylight.

๐•ฟ๐–๐–Š ๐•ฑ๐–Š๐–†๐–˜๐–™ ๐•ฏ๐–†๐–ž ๐–”๐–‹ ๐•พ๐–Ž๐–Œ๐–˜๐–Ž๐–’๐–š๐–“๐–‰


They explain further: It is the Feast Day of Sigsimund. On that day (or on the night after), all vampires must feed from a living human. Blood taken from a corpse, or not immediately sucked from the vein, will be poisonous to the vampire. And they must feed, or they will die.

(Vampires who do not feed will be met by confusion by the clerics-- they thought you had to...)

Above the well, around the church of Kismet, is the town of Ainsmere. The people of Ainsmere know what day it is. They have put holy water in their homes, spread carved holy symbols on their doors, put blessed objects by their windows, set traps in their homes, and sleep with knives under their beds.

How will you feed? You are so thirsty, in some cases it may consume all your thoughts.



The Clerics of the Riven God will do what they can, but regretfully they cannot kidnap people for you to feed. This is, they say, a test of your commitment to your new blessings under the Riven God. They wish to see you use your glorious purpose.

But some of you will not be able to make it to the village. Can you wait in hopes your fellow vampires will bring you back a victim? The clerics will try to help, giving some blood, but it will not do much more than quiet thirst for a precious few minutes.

For those of you who do not trust others to bring food back to you down the well, you can attempt to traverse the sewers, but it is disgusting and brackish. Worse, holy water has gotten into the sludge, and it's too diluted to be prohibitive, it's still incredibly painful to trek through, for those sensitive to such things. Yet if you take this path, you may find strange bangles made entirely of carved jade.

Just clean 'em off first.

A vampire does not necessarily have to feed, on Sigsimund's say, but hunger will become more and more painful, until they become immobilized with it.

๐•ฟ๐–๐–Š ๐•ฎ๐–๐–š๐–—๐–ˆ๐– & ๐–™๐–๐–Š ๐•ฟ๐–”๐–œ๐–“


The Church of Kismet is abandoned during the night. Inside is a beautiful place, that would be elegant and bright during the day, where reflective mirrors bring the sun to full bloom. There is also an expansive library ripe for the plucking. (Like, super ripe.)

Ainsmere itself turns out to be coastal-- explaining the scent of seawater in the caves, and how many passages were blocked off.



It is a town with much industry and little room-- thus many houses are stacked atop each other. Packed in close, moving with stealth is a must-- however, villagers are highly superstitious of the well on the grounds of Kismet Church. If you are chased and make it back first, you may be safe. However, getting caught and seen entering the well too many times will put the town on high alert; they may even begin throwing things down the well.

As for the clerics, they pray, and try to make the well hospitable.

๐•ฏ๐–”๐–œ๐–“ ๐–‡๐–ž ๐–™๐–๐–Š ๐•ฝ๐–Ž๐–›๐–Š๐–—


For good or ill, when Sigsimund's Feast Day is over, you must leave. The clerics lead you to another path in the cave, where you can find boats and an underground river.



The clerics ask you to be very quiet as they make their way through this path. The water is deadly still, and if you are rowing, you are cautioned to do so very slowly, to break the surface of the water as little as possible.

Of course, if you don't, something may rise to the surface. The clerics will go silent if this happens. The creatures in the water may act harmless or simply curious, simply looking like mermaids, but interacting with them in any way will cause a change in demeanor. They will use everything in their power to drag people into the water and drown them.

The clerics will not help. They will only watch, horrified. It's up to you to fight these creatures off, or save a fallen friend.

๐•ฌ ๐•ณ๐–”๐–‘๐–ž ๐•ป๐–‘๐–†๐–ˆ๐–Š


Finally, the river will break into land, and after a few steps, you'll find your new lodgings.



The clerics say it is a place holy to the Riven God, and vampires have nothing to fear. The inside is overgrown, but sleep will come easily to a vampire that has fed.

Dreams will be restful, but drumbeats will form the background to any sound. So will a deep voice, welcoming you over and over. You are chosen. You are mine.

Later, you can explore the church grounds. You'll find the place, as mentioned, totally overgrown and largely nonfunctional, but rather big!

There is also an overgrown garden, various votive candles the clerics are busy re-lighting, and a store of food in the larder. (It's largely blood sausage, salt pork, and other cured meats, along with various red wines on the young side.) There are also deer and boar in the forest to hunt, and while you don't need blood when it's not a feast day the hunger is still there and it tastes delicious.

While the rooves are in various states of disrepair, everyone should be able to mostly get around without having to worry too much about direct sunlight. They may have to be creative with coats and glasses, if necessary. (Where did they get coats and glasses? Clearly they stole them from Ainsmere.)

Throughout, this symbol is carved and painted, over and over.



goty: happy. sad. (nobody)

[personal profile] goty 2021-10-16 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
She swipes at him with her other hand, missing fingers, making the blood rush with sharp pain. She's crying. Why is she crying? She used to grunt through pain and be done with it.

She looks up at him, crouched and rail-thin in the burning water. "Why?"
rhenalfailure: (9)

[personal profile] rhenalfailure 2021-10-17 11:14 am (UTC)(link)
โ€œYou are not alone. Not the only one of your kind, nor the lastโ€” we are the same, now.โ€

Taking her into his arms like this, over the sound of ragged breathing and sharper sniffling is perhaps a simple task for him, despite the weariness that clings to his peripheral awareness, framing the fringe edges of his focus at all times. Squeezing like a vice.

The grime she carries slicks itself across dark leather when he shifts his hold: one arm slung beneath her knees, one across her shoulders and spine.

He doesnโ€™t seem to care.

โ€œAnd you did not abandon me.โ€
goty: angry. (impossible to claim your reward.)

[personal profile] goty 2021-10-24 06:51 pm (UTC)(link)
She curls into him more from shame than comfort. She'll hide herself in his strange bulk, until this moment is over. She can bear it, the pity, the helplessness, the forced familiarity. She's borne worse.

"I pushed you in," she hisses into his chest, refusing to be temperate even now. Her body is all tense muscles, a stone in his arms, and her voice is none gentler.
rhenalfailure: (2)

[personal profile] rhenalfailure 2021-10-26 12:13 pm (UTC)(link)
โ€œI have not forgotten.โ€ Again, she insists. Again, his attention does not anchor to her efforts, though something at the edge of his mouth tics faintly in narrowed contemplation.

Her assertion confirms his suspicion: that the dream was either shared, or real.

But that knowledge matters less in the moment, as the soles of his boots stick while he wadesโ€” as she curls in on herself to avoid the disparity of the moment, and its presence is so potent he can almost feel its clawing grasp sinking deep into his own marrow.

They cannot be permitted to mire within it.

โ€œYou may call me Dettlaff.โ€
goty: injury. angry. (anymore)

[personal profile] goty 2021-10-26 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
He's outplayed her, is the thing. In the traditional sense-- in the Joel sense-- of strength and power, but also the fragile sense beyond Joel's teachings, where things are decided by imperfectly balanced feelings and glances and tones of voice.

Which is to say he's both stronger than her and implacable. Motherfuck.

"Ellie," she murmurs, trying not to pout. There should be a point where you're too tired to pout.
rhenalfailure: (17)

[personal profile] rhenalfailure 2021-10-27 03:05 am (UTC)(link)
Ellie, he thinks to himself, as though nailing her name to his memory. His gaze lifts skyward, towards the inky tunnel ceiling running overhead, marking contours. Searching for a break in stony slate.

โ€œIt is a difficult thing, to go on oneโ€™s own.โ€
Edited 2021-10-27 03:05 (UTC)
goty: sad. (i place a ring around us)

[personal profile] goty 2021-10-27 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
"I know," she spits back, or tries to. She's too tired and pained to really put heat behind her words. She really does sound like a whiny kid.

"What makes you the expert."

But she can't stop herself, apparently. There's a luxury in dwelling in her own emotions. She hasn't felt that in... a while.
rhenalfailure: (11)

oh my god I missed this notif too what the hell dw

[personal profile] rhenalfailure 2021-10-29 05:00 am (UTC)(link)
โ€œI am not. In fact, I have always been its antithesis: my own kindโ€” vampiresโ€” Gharasham, held no place in the world of man.โ€

A strange, warped mirror, this place. Differing details, similar warding, fears, risks. Dettlaff wonders how she could have hoped to hunt in her current state, and the answer that comes to mind is as messy and painful as her attempt to wade through the underground depths.

โ€œIt is for our own protection that we seek each other out. To preserve our ways, and find peace where it would not otherwise exist. Alone, it would be all but impossible.โ€

And sad, but that he keeps to himself.
goty: red. static. angry. (Default)

falls flat in front of you late with no starbucks.

[personal profile] goty 2021-11-09 06:17 pm (UTC)(link)
"So you're a real vampire." The sentence is so absurd, it pulls a laugh out of Ellie's self-pity. The sound can't decide whether to mock the speaker or the recipient, so it splits the difference and shames them both. Ellie presses her face into Dettlaff's chest, because now, given quarter, the pain demands she respond to it. How horrible, to live, to exist, when so many don't. How much worse, to want to keep going.

At least, when she wanted to die, she was respectful.

Just not in the ways anyone appreciated.

"What the fuck can I preserve?"

What an ugly, naked question. She meant it to be a curse. It comes out as a quaver. Oh, please, give me a reason to live.
rhenalfailure: (22)

[personal profile] rhenalfailure 2021-11-12 01:47 am (UTC)(link)
He thinks of dust. The scent of paper gone brittle and rotting book bindings, stacked high in unkempt rows. Itโ€™s not a conscious leap: his memory from her question, snapping as quickly as if sheโ€™d asked after it. From there to charcoal etched over plaster walls, wooden curls crunching softly underfoot.

Some things were simply meant to be preserved.

โ€œYour story.โ€

All he can manage, devoid of elegance or eloquence, his hold on her shifting by nominal degrees as the staler stench of trapped air begins to give way.
goty: happy. sad. (nobody)

[personal profile] goty 2021-11-16 05:09 pm (UTC)(link)
"My story is shit." The words leap out of her, unbidden. She doesn't mean to whine. Nobody wants to hear that, anyway. But her story is too embarrassing, too deeply selfish and worthless and twisted, to ever be told, much less preserved.

She sits with that, carried in the arms of a stranger like the precious thing she's not. This again. Always, she is someone else's totem.

"Is that what you're doing? Preserving your story?"

She's fast to search for fault, wanting to see hypocrisy, wanting to feel better entrenched in her bitter position.
rhenalfailure: (24)

[personal profile] rhenalfailure 2021-11-17 10:51 am (UTC)(link)
His own mouth twists. Dry as it is, the scoff punctuating it sounds very much like a wearied laugh.

He doesnโ€™t mind the accusation.

โ€œMy story is too long to be remembered here.โ€ Others, elsewhereโ€” those most important to himโ€” might keep that ebbing tale alive. โ€œBut if there is anything from your world worth safekeeping, it would be better off spoken of, than left in shadow. We do not know how this will end.โ€

There, a break in the underground span. Spotted overhead.

โ€œPerhaps to be considered later.โ€

Survival will always come firstโ€” and to that end, he has to shift his hold on her, pressing her more against his chest in order to use one arm to climb the ladder to the surface. She can resent him for it later. Or now.

Either is her right.

When they reach the cool evening air above, he sets her down. Frees her completely from his hold at last. He can only assume it is a relief.