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ph_logs2023-10-29 07:54 pm
pumpkinhollow) wrote in ph_logs2023-10-29 07:54 pm
Halloween Special Pt 2 - The Nightmare Carnival
THE NIGHTMARE CARNIVAL
The Blood Moon Rises
Ah, Pumpkinfest. Pumpkin Hollow’s hallmark event.
The festival was created early on after the town’s inception, both in light of the abundant pumpkin harvest for which the town is named and to mark the Season of Spirits as having truly begun. It is one of the few times of year when staying out after dark is encouraged--- Jack-o-Lantern night and raucous merrymaking seemed to drive away much of the danger. And for just a few blessed days, all seems well. No monsters to devour, no horrors to haunt, no tragedy to endure. Just one week of food and music and joy, surrounded by warm light that the darkness beyond cannot seem to touch.
The light of the full moon is set as the indicator of the festival’s culmination, and the final night of Pumpkinfest is now underway. There is an air of bittersweetness today, the knowledge that this haven will dissipate tomorrow hanging unspoken over the festival. It is a blessing and a curse, encouraging more vigorous celebration from those with a fear of missing out, but also a layer of anxiety about what is to come. Things have been too peaceful for too long. What horrors lay on the other side of this temporary joy?
As it turns out, no one will have to wait all that long for the answer.
The festival was created early on after the town’s inception, both in light of the abundant pumpkin harvest for which the town is named and to mark the Season of Spirits as having truly begun. It is one of the few times of year when staying out after dark is encouraged--- Jack-o-Lantern night and raucous merrymaking seemed to drive away much of the danger. And for just a few blessed days, all seems well. No monsters to devour, no horrors to haunt, no tragedy to endure. Just one week of food and music and joy, surrounded by warm light that the darkness beyond cannot seem to touch.
The light of the full moon is set as the indicator of the festival’s culmination, and the final night of Pumpkinfest is now underway. There is an air of bittersweetness today, the knowledge that this haven will dissipate tomorrow hanging unspoken over the festival. It is a blessing and a curse, encouraging more vigorous celebration from those with a fear of missing out, but also a layer of anxiety about what is to come. Things have been too peaceful for too long. What horrors lay on the other side of this temporary joy?
As it turns out, no one will have to wait all that long for the answer.
Hail to the Prince
[ Content Warnings: Rot, viscera, blood and other bodily fluids, clowns. ]
When the orange light of October sunset fades to a deep blue twilight, the merriment is proceeding as they had each night previous. However, the moment the sun dips fully below the horizon, all its protection goes with it.The Sanguine Moon shines a brilliant orange overhead, looming close.
The clock tower chimes the hour of 7pm, but the bells sound sour. Too loud. The first hint that something is wrong, as if to get everyone’s attention before the trouble begins in earnest.
Once the seal is broken, the festival begins to change. Jack-o-Lanterns pop one at a time in a shower of black and red confetti, replaced by garish red and orange balloons wearing crudely drawn and monstrous faces. Food and drink are transformed in puffs of hideous chartreuse smoke, becoming other substances. These range from benign things such as clumps of peach jam, rotten fruit, or stagnant lake water to obscene things like unidentified offal, bile, and slimy filth. Carnival games inexplicably go up in flames, or are swarmed by bats or bugs, or simply turn to mud or sand and collapse. And the stage, which had been all prepared for Grace Holloway’s final festival performance, is briefly covered by a hideous theatrical curtain covered in chaotic patterns. When the curtain rises again, it has been completely redecorated.
The stage is now set for a harlequin act. A checkered-diamond drape now lines the back of the stage, framed by other swooping fabric swags in colors which are poorly matched. Unlit braziers are seated on either side, spilling over with copious handfuls of pumpkin guts in lieu of fire. Garlands made of foul-smelling seaweed, river reeds, strips of moth-eaten and blood soaked gauze and wilted poppies dangle in an intricate web from the rafters, rotten apples hanging from them like holiday ornaments. Animal bones and insect corpses hang from threads and litter the floor. And in the center, there is a vile and wretched mockery of a throne. It is constructed of more bones, bearing cracked halves of a broken skull on each armrest and draped in tattered silks and cobwebs.
On the throne, there sits a strange jester. His skin is a deep, dark gray, which stands in stark contrast against his gleaming white voids of eyes and enormous, crooked, toothy grin. He is wearing a patchwork costume of cobbled-together fabrics, some of which look more like thin strips of raw meat sewn to the velvet or brocade of the other pieces. His hat is enormous and seems to defy gravity, the bells jingling out abrasive and sour notes as he moves.
The jester stands, taking a bow and cackling.
“Hello, Pumpkin Hollow! Such a pleasure to meet you all at last. Do allow me to introduce myself--- I am Mendel, the Prince of Fools, and your Master of Ceremonies for this final night of Pumpkinfest! My family and I have had a special fondness for this place for many a year now, and as such, I felt it only right to liven up your party. I’ve added a whole host of unique games and a number of my helpful staff. I do hope you enjoy it! You won’t really have any choice. Ta-ta!” Reeling back, he tosses a smoke bomb onto the stage, releasing an enormous, choking plume of rainbow-colored smoke. He vanishes, and so do you. When next you open your eyes, you will find yourself in one of Mendel’s torture games now littered around town.
Welcome to the Nightmare Carnival.
TOPSY TURVEY TERROR
[ Content Warnings: extreme likelihood of character death by ice, fire, poison, crushing, physical or supernatural violence, or by accident. Mind/body control. Disrespectful treatment of the dead. General torture. ]
A procession, raucous and grand, pushes through town. Ghouls and infernal creatures from another world throw themselves into the crowds of people, snaring people in one-armed embraces, twirling them in energetic dances, tossing arms around their shoulders and swaying with joy.And what a joyous day it is, for the Carnival is to begin.
It seems in an instant that the colorful banners of Pumpkinfest begin to change, though whether through the light or the color itself was up for debate. Crimson torches dotted the streets, burning bright and crackling in the wind, and on the horizon, the Effigy was raised.
A mass of twigs, sticks, and foliage, in the shape of a person reaching to the sky. In its strange way, the pose almost looks almost reverent. With hair formed out of browned strands of weeping willow and a linen garment fashioned to look like the robes of the Temple, it seems to represent the late Merrick Gladwyn--- an act of further disrespect by the infernal invaders.
As it is lit, this reverence turns to a burning despair as its face is warped and distorted by heat, silent laments and pleas for aid to the Goddesses themselves that would go unheard.
Let the games begin.
The games in the carnival are all seated by unwilling participants, placed there by the Carnival Master, the Prince of Fools. The placement happened in a blink of an eye - one moment, the villagers were scattered about the streets, and next, they were randomly assigned to grim games with dire consequences--- and no escape.
Any unfortunate souls at the Nightmare Carnival will find themselves cast into one of the following games and spectacles to have their unfortunate souls:
Misfortune Teller Not all predictions of the future are particularly fortunate. The figure in the fortune-telling tent, hunched shoulders and face hidden beneath an ornate hooded shawl, slowly moves to begin drawing cards. They at first appear to be classic tarot cards, but drawing them reveals that they are… strangely specific. Do those depictions of people on them look familiar? They almost seem to shift as they're looked upon. How odd.
The misfortune teller will provide a reading that portends all manner of harrowing fates, seen below.
1. Death's Unwavering Grasp: You begin to wither at a rapid pace, losing strength with every passing second. At the end of it, you perish. This is (debatably) the worst possible outcome. 2. Visions of Plague: You fall ill, the severity of which is chosen by the player. Your escape is made more difficult by this, and it lingers beyond the carnival, as long as a normal illness of whatever chosen type would.
3. Once Frostbitten, Twice Shy: An unnatural hypothermia begins to set into you. Heat seems to do little to cast it away, but the rise of morning will thaw the curse. Can you manage to stave off the cold, or will you freeze to death in its wake?
4. Aching Hearts: An opinion of one of your loved ones has completely shattered, and you can't seem to understand why, nor shake the feeling. All you know is that somehow you are overcome with the notion that this person has hurt or betrayed you, currently feeling beyond repair. Drama!
5. Thousand-Mile Dash: You run. You run, and run, and run, until your legs no longer carry you. When your legs can no longer carry you, you crawl until your fingers bleed. (Think the dancing plague, but much... faster???)
6. Turning, Burning: In your eyes, everything is becoming consumed by flame. This doesn't impact anyone else, but if anyone is feeling skeptical, you'll receive actual burns from the invisible fires!
7. Crystalline Consumption: Starting at one small point, shining crystals in any given color begin to consume your flesh. If allowed to go on for too long, you will become a crystalized statue, and perish.
8. Stygian Awakening: The crimson flame burns in your heart. You find yourself hearing the true jubilation around you, instead of witnessing the horrors. You have fallen under Mendel's thrall. May the Goddesses have mercy on your fellow villagers you come across in this state, as you will take on both a demonic appearance and an infernal mindset.
9. Splitting Your Sides: It starts as a chuckle, a chortle, a snicker. Did the misfortune teller say something funny? All you know is that, now, you can't seem to stop yourself from laughing, growing more and more intense with every passing moment. Your lungs burn for air, your side hurts, your lips split, your face aches, but you simply can't help yourself. You laugh into the long, dark night. (Though unlikely, your character *can* die from this!)
10. The Path to Freedom: You abruptly learn the exact directions through the darkened forests to one of the abandoned cabins, isolated and away from the carnage. Congratulations! Now, just make sure you can actually make it there...
Hall of Mirrors
You find yourself in a complex maze made of mirrored walls, tasked with the objective of finding your way to the exit. As if this weren’t disorienting enough, there is an added, dangerous twist--- you are being followed. Not by any monster or specter, but by yourself. Indeed, one of your many, many reflections has gone rogue, and seeks to corner you too close to the glass pane which contains it and attack you. It cannot fully emerge, but its hands are capable of grabbing you and attacking!
However, in the distance, you can hear something. Perhaps a scream or the scuffling sounds of violence. There are other victims in the maze with you! It’s possible you can reach each other and put your heads together to escape, but beware: this doubles the danger by allowing your reflections to collaborate as well.
Knife-Throwing
A test of dexterity and skill, you are tasked with throwing knives at a slowly spinning round board with targets painted onto it. However, this game comes with a dangerous consequence: one of your fellow townsfolk is affixed to the wheel, and a lack of aim could spell their doom. Roll a D20 for one of the following results:
1-3: You miss your target. Instead, the knife has pierced a vital organ of your companion, and they die.
3-5: A miss, off the board. Your ghastly audience isn't pleased about this.
5-10: A miss, with impact on your companion, though non-lethal. Ouch!
10-15: A miss, on the board. A boring result that leaves the crowd in a grumbling huff.
15-20: You hit your target, and your companion remains unscathed! Success! The other person is released, and the two of you may attempt to escape the Nightmare Carnival.
You have as many rolls as you need to finish the game, which happens either when you hit your target or kill your counterpart.
Escape Room
You and one other resident have been placed into a room, decorated with assorted puzzles lining the walls and furniture within. An hourglass sits upon a table, counting down, and all the doors and windows are locked. Working together, you must solve the puzzles before the time runs out.
The puzzles within and their solutions are always randomized! Therefore, no guidance will give you any hints on how to get out.
[This means you can make up the puzzles and their solutions yourselves rather than relying on a mod or hidden secrets. This should make it flow a little easier for you. Enjoy!]
Those who fail to complete their challenge in time find themselves in an equally random peril that will result in their deaths if they don't take the last few seconds to escape. These things can include spikes dropping from the ceiling, the room being filled with smoke, flames, water, or noxious gas, or the walls closing in to crush those inside.
Duel to the Death
The Prince of Fools knows your heart, and has used it against you.
You've been placed into a combat arena, stone walls lining a dirt floor in a wide circle. Across from you is another competitor, but not just anyone - someone you hold dear. Weapons hang from imposing hooks scattered along the walls of the arena, and the horn has sounded. No words are needed to understand what is at play, in this horrible place: this is a battle to the death.
A few things are readily apparent upon entering the ring: both you and your opponent are feeling stronger, meaning that you can take far more licks than usual before falling. Many of the weapons dotting the walls are strikingly familiar, but there is something off about them.
Upon taking a weapon, the strange energy about the weapons becomes clear: they crave blood with a near-sentience, and your movements are no longer solely your own. No matter how your mind wrestles with them, they will charge into combat with reckless abandon with intent to kill.
Should you succeed in killing your opponent, you're celebrated by your monstrous crowd! A gate lifts, and you're given a few choice moments to escape the arena and attempt to escape the town entirely before you're dragged into a new terrible happening. Should you and your opponent try to refuse the fight, the crowd takes matters in their own hands and makes sure both of you suffer your fate together. Seemingly infinite and not felled easily, they rush into the arena, joined by warped beasts released from the iron gates, and intend to make your and your friends' blood spill one way or another.
| SPECIAL THANKS: Thank you, Harvey, for writing the games section! |
cw: suicide ideation
The truth is, Erik could have driven the wood so hard against Chris already they might have been bludgeoned unconscious in one go. But, he doesn't want to do that either. Part of him is enjoying this banter, enjoying the rush as every hunter does, and the other is reluctant to hurt a friend. One he can see so much of himself in. So he stays where he is and lets Chris recover. Sooner or later, it's going to have to end but maybe just... not yet. Maybe he can find a kinder way. He could always turn the spear on himself but would that satisfy the game?
"I feel it, too." Erik says, somberly, dashing out of the way of Chris's sword in a blink and not even bothering to riposte this time. "It echoes the impulse I have lived with all my undead life. Perhaps that is why it does not have full mastery of me yet." But he can feel it digging. And he has a very strong concern that, much like when Elsie was tapping on his Beast's cage, this magic might do the same. If it awakens his real Beast... that is a fate worse than temporary death.
"I think it may be best if I let you kill me. I do not like this magic."
no subject
Chris makes more attempts to attack -- more 'lip service' to the idea that they have to fight, rather than anything truly dangerous -- and the red glow of their eyes intensifies for a moment before they snarl out, "You can't make me!"
This time, with their latest attack, they fling themself at Erik more recklessly -- then over-balance and fall.
"Sorry! That was... at the damn sword. But..." Chris goes up on one knee, pauses -- then, "You're stronger. You can get away. Maybe you should kill me."
no subject
They must duel again sometime when it isn't a matter of life and death. This is far more enjoyable than it's supposed to be. Well, until that red glow seizes their eyes again. It takes some effort not to let himself catch Chris when they fall. But he can feel a surge in his blood, a sudden tightening of thirst that does not bode well. He backs up a few steps, his hands so tight on his spear he can hear the wood cracking.
"Yes, I gathered that. Your eyes flash red when it asserts control over you. I can see it happening." A tell. One he could use to time it just righ--No. Stop it!
"No. I need you to listen now. I am less frightened of dying than I am of what happens if I win this duel. If this magic forces me to lose my composure, more than just you will die. I could level half this town, and that wouldn't be very good for business, would it?"
no subject
Same difference, insofar as being a tell.
Chris gets to their feet slowly, maintaining distance from Erik as they circle him. It looks to the crowd like they are looking for a weak point, like they are fighting as the crowd wants them to. In truth, it's a bid to buy time -- to think, to process Erik's words.
"You're right. Who knows if your weapon would let you go even after the duel is over?" Chris scowls. "Fuckin' demons. Fuckin' curses."
They engage again, telegraphing their attack pretty blatantly, just to keep the crowd satisfied.
"It's not the way I prefer to get head from you," Chris grits out, "but will decapitation kill you?"
no subject
He parries their attack as softly as he can get away with while still making it look real. There's another crunch in the center of his spear. Oh, he has an idea now and he already does not like it at all. Someone is going to owe him a drink later.
Still, he can't help but snort at that joke. Fuck. "I wish it were that simple. I'll have to give you some help. When I come at you, aim for the center of this shaft. I want you to split it in half. After that, attack with all you have. This... will not be pretty."
no subject
"Understood. Split the spear," Chris replies. Then they break away from the current attack -- which gets a chorus of boos -- to retreat and collect themself. This time, their stance is wider, more firmly planted... in the hopes that they'll be able to withstand Erik's strength and follow the plan.
When Erik attacks... when Chris sees their chance... they give one defiant scream and swing for the center of the spear shaft.
Thunk. The sword cuts partway through the shaft and gets stuck.
[[ OOC: The die said 4, so... not a complete failure, but definitely time to improvise some shit. ]]
cw: blood/gore/eye gouging
"Scream something," Erik whispers urgently. "Pretend to cast some spell on me. Sell it." That's all he can allow himself to say before he loses his nerve to do this.
A dramatic pause, and then he puts on a face of horror as if he's suddenly lost control of himself. With shaking hands (and these are not an act) he brings both halves of the spear up dramatically in front of his face and then plunges them directly into his own eye sockets with a blood-curdling scream. Now, he just hopes Chris can swiftly finish this job.
cw: murder / mercy kill / blood and gore
Still, enough Latin is lodged in zir brain for an off the cuff translation and Chris yells "Sempiternitas!" while waving zir free hand forcefully at Erik.
The scream turns Chris's stomach, maybe even more than the gruesome sight of blood and vitreous fluid running down Erik's face, but it's all horrifying and now's not the time to qualify its elements or give in to the urge to retch. Chris uses both hands on the sword hilt to stab into Erik's chest, and drag the blade downward as much as they can manage -- hoping that it will inflict enough damage to kill.
cw: gore/blood/death
He can hear the whisper of the sword coming before he feels the sharp stab just below his sternum. Up, he wants to groan. Push up, not down! To the heart! But it's all the same in the end. With his eyes gone, a mortal wound is a mortal wound. With one last agonized gurgle, Erik falls limp to the ground. To Chris goes the victory. But it isn't much cause for celebration.
Re: cw: gore/blood/death
And they pitch to one side, arms over their head as if that could somehow shield them from what they've just done -- and they scream and scream.
If the crowd doesn't like it, they can do what they will. All the fight has gone out of Chris.