ph_logs | [ August Event ] Thatcher's Blight

[ August Event ] Thatcher's Blight

**Plain text version here.

THATCHER'S BLIGHT

FLU SEASON

CONTENT WARNINGS: Pandemic/quarantine, exaggerated rabies allegory, loss of faculties, medical, unsanitary, extreme violence, mental degradation and dementia-like symptoms, zombie-like behavior, guaranteed death.

-

The day that the plague comes to Marrow Isle has all the makings of a very peaceful day on the island. Incidents of Dirt Men and dragon sightings have been minimal, the crabs are in the process of receding back into the sea, and the weather has been lovely. Warm with a crisp breeze, not a cloud in the sky. The heat of summer is beginning to peter out and the smell of autumn begins to waft in the breeze, thoughts turning to apple harvests and colored leaves. It should have been a lovely day.

But let’s be honest, that’s always the first sign of trouble, isn’t it?

The market in town bustles as usual when a stranger walks into town. This isn’t inherently strange. New people arrive all the time, after all. What makes this particular incident strange is the fact that the unusual man enters from the wrong side of the island, seeming to come from the mountain rather than the shore. His features are strange, elongated uncannily and darkened in peculiar places as if being lit from directly above by a spotlight in a dark room. He is smiling broadly, his eyes bright but glassy, and he walks with a bit of a stagger as he tours every single shop and booth in the marketplace. He laughs loudly, touches everything he can, puts his hands on every person who will allow him, and lets out a rattling cough at random intervals. Sometimes the cough comes with blood. And if you ask him if he’s alright, he’ll laugh heartily and answer, “Oh, I’m fine, I just haven’t been feeling so well.”

When the man is detained and taken to a clinic, he goes without complaint, telling jokes the whole way and following any orders or requests with genial compliance. He’s hazy, but well-mannered and friendly. Any questions for the stranger, however, are met only with peals of near-drunken giggles, with only two exceptions. When asked what he is sick with, he will readily answer that he has something called “Thatcher’s Blight.” And when asked for his name, he will answer, “Patient Zero.” But by the time this information is passed to the radio and newspaper, people are already beginning to cough.

VIROLOGY

PROGNOSIS

Thatcher’s Blight is a viral infection that is transmitted primarily through body fluids, but it can also become airborne and will stick to surfaces that are not cleaned thoroughly. The onset is fast and aggressive, and the diagnosis is always deadly. At least until a cure is found. Thankfully, Pumpkin Hollow is staffed with medical professionals from all throughout time, whose job it will be to research the disease and create a vaccine. Below is a thorough overview of all of the details you’ll need OOCly, but ICly these things should be figured out organically.

Stage 1. Incubation + Initial Infection [ 2-6 HOURS ]

› Incubation is extremely short, and the virus begins manifesting symptoms quickly after initial infection, sometimes as soon as a mere two hours after contact. Patients experience strong flu-like symptoms, including exhaustion, nausea, fever, running nose, sore throat, cough, increased heart-rate, difficulty breathing, and mild delirium. A patient will become truly infectious when a fever forms, and will need to be handled with caution in this event. Infection from a patient in Stage 1 is not impossible, but notably lower than the later stages of infection.

Stage 2. Prodromal [ 16-24 HOURS ]

› Characterized by severely increasing symptoms as patients' bodies attempt to fight off the disease. Flu-like symptoms worsen, and any suffering the illness who were not bedridden will often become so. Confusion worsens severely; completely lucid patients will lose track of where they are, or who they are with. Emotional dysregulation begins, and short-term memory starts to degrade. Infection from a patient in Stage 2 is not impossible, and is increased from the low rates of Stage 1, but is also notably lower than the later stages of infection.

Stage 3. "Amnesiac's Recovery" / False Decline [ 30-38 HOURS ]

› So named due to a return of many of the patients' physical faculties, such as standing and walking without issue, but cold-like symptoms continue. Patients' short-term memory continues to degrade and general confusion remains severe, and many will enter a so-called "time loop" of their day-to-day actions: whatever action they were taking before the "loop" begins, they will repeat. If someone goes to the grocery store, they will pay, take groceries home, drop them, and return to do so again. Phone-calls will be made again, and repeat beat-for-beat.

Addressing the "loop" will often cause a patient to regain some lucidity, but they will often fall back into doing so once more if left to their own devices. As the False Decline moves into the next stage, patients will begin to experience sharp, often unprovoked bursts of rage, or a persistent level of frustration.

Stage 4. "Propagation" / Furious Form [ 40 - 52 HOURS ]

› Most often observed in carnivores and omnivorous species, as many herbivores/prey animals will simply attempt to run, hide, or collect with their herd (which frequently performs the same function). Notably, this stage for animals lasts a distinctly short amount of time, and transfer rates between animals are remarkably low compared to humanoid infection - the reason for this is unknown.

Patients seemingly succumb to a deep rage and attack any moving object in sight, track sources of sounds, and occasionally begin lashing out at inanimate objects. Dexterity is reduced sharply; patients with hands will no longer be able to grip doorknobs or use intricate tools.

No regard for physical well-being is maintained, and patients will undergo grievous injury to attempt their attacks. Attacks are never made with intention to kill, though fatality from wounds is possible; the intention of the "Propagation" period is to spread the virus as widely and quickly as possible. If one target is too difficult to reach, it will easily be abandoned in favor of an easier one.

Cognitive functions are scarce beyond seeing and hearing - however, "word salad" often comes from patients capable of speech, frequently containing thoughts or spoken words from their final moments of lucidity.

Stage 5. "Last Ditch Effort" / Paralytic Form [ 62 - 70 HOURS ]

› After the previous stage's "last push" is complete, patients' bodies begin to shut down. The body succumbs to the virus, leaving the afflicted catatonic and immobilized. In a final attempt to use the host's body to further spread the virus, however, it will use one last strategy: reaching out to the kindness of others.

The patient, despite no longer seeming physically aware of their inability to move, will call for help, plea to anyone they can see, or weep. Any contact with fluids by those attempting to assist will often result in immediate infection.

At the end of his account comes the worst of the news: Mr. Thatcher did not discover a cure for the blight that claimed his hometown. When the Royal Guard arrived to provide assistance, there was little town left; what was left aside was felled to prevent the spread from moving any further.

RESEARCH BEGINS

The first step of defeating the plague will be doing background research. Pair up with a research buddy and start looking into the history of Thatcher’s Blight. We will need threads where people locate the following information:

The original medical records from physicians in Grier’s Glen regarding Thatcher’s Blight. (The info contained therein can be found OOCly in the “Prognosis” section, but finding it ICly will be important! Plus there’s a lil bonus info there.)
The identity of Patient Zero.
What Patient Zero is, exactly.

If you believe you are close to acquiring said information, reach out to a mod! If you are correct, you will receive a little digital info card. If not, you will get a clue.

There is a bit of a time buffer between the event’s beginning and when a vaccine can be developed, so use that time to work on this. It’s best if teams work on this simultaneously!

DEVELOPING THE VACCINE

This portion of the event, though being narrative, has a mechanical function as well! Thatcher's Blight cannot be cured before 8/18 (which will be a full course of the illness in the earliest townsfolk who contracted it). We will be asking for characters in the medical professions to be rolling a d20.

For a successful trial of the vaccine, a group of participating medical staff must collectively roll at least a sum of 40. Anything lower and the trial fails, and the test subject contracts the Blight as normal. (This means, for ease's sake, if one character rolls an 18, another character can roll a 12, and a third rolls a 10, that third vaccine trial will succeed!) To try again, they must acquire a new volunteer.

Up to 4 people with appropriate medical knowledge can roll per trial, and these are added the same as any separate trials towards that collective 40. Threads with non-medical people assisting medical staff can allow that character to roll at advantage (ex. if Watson and Mulcahy have a thread together, for all trials going forward, Watson can roll 2 dice and submit the higher roll).

The vaccine is cleared for use after 3 successful trials, and is able to be distributed to the rest of the town from there!

VIOLENT OUTBREAK

SOMETHING IN THE AIR

The first day is a tense sort of quiet. Every cough or sneeze is fussed over, and everyone in town seems to be holding their breath. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Pumpkin Hollow’s fantastical problems have always been bad, so no one’s under any illusions that this will be a walk in the park, but there’s always those same early whispers whenever a new horror rears its head. What are we in for this time? How bad will it get? But even as anxiety hangs in the air for the entirety of that first day, even as the flu-like symptoms take hold in seemingly record time and people’s minds grow hazy, there is an uneasy peace that the uninformed might even mistake for things being not so bad. Some victims are even beginning to look better after some rest.

But then, late into the second day, the looping starts. Infected people begin repeating tasks, such as doing the same chores over and over, visiting the same stores and purchasing the same items, and making laps around a specific area for hours. While the infected still seem more lucid, they can’t recall their previous “loops” and will get agitated and even violent if pulled away from their activities. Their loved ones and neighbors will also find them still very contagious.

And by the 48 hour mark, the bloodshed begins in earnest.

QUARANTINE CHAOS

The most jarring part of all of this is how quickly the situation devolves from tentative worry into screaming chaos as the third day dawns. The infected begin to rise from their slumber to lay waste to their neighbors, attacking with abrupt and unprovoked violence, breaking into homes and jumping people in the streets. They break skin, break bones, but they do not kill--- at least, not on purpose. At the sight of blood, they immediately abandon their quarry, because killing was never the point. The disease does not want to kill. It wants to spread.

Lockdowns begin swiftly, with the uninfected hunkering down in clinics and easily defendable communal buildings. The most viable shelters are Town Hall or Greymare Library for Downtown Hollow residents, and Prague Mill or Baker Ranch for Northwest Hollowites and those who live on the Bluffs. Leeds Estate is also quite defensible, but it appears that Dahlia shut up her doors and windows well in advance. Those who try to shelter in their homes find that luck is not with them.

However, these locations don’t have the means to maintain a population on their own. Supply runs for medical items and food will need to be organized. Who will brave the danger?

Additionally, each shelter is advised to keep a radio available. The radio tower built adjacent to Town Hall is running as often as possible thanks to Phil Connors and Cecil Palmer. A small militia has been formed by Gerry Keay to keep the radio tower defended at all costs, and he’s happy to recruit more help. Sending stones still function for communication, so it’s best to stay in touch and work together while the medical team develops a cure.

VAXXED UP [ CONCLUSION ]

When the research is done and the trials succeed, all it takes is a little more time and a few more materials to produce enough vaccinations for the whole town. And surely someone will set their sights, and their syringe, on Patient Zero.

Despite his general haziness, the moment he sees the needle, he will flee as quickly and as violently as possible. Give chase! Even with the vaccine protecting the islanders, it’s not safe to let this suspicious superspreader go on as-is. And once the island’s strange visitor is soundly subdued, all that remains is to vaccinate the townsfolk and quarantine the remaining unwell animals until the disease runs its course before Thatcher’s Blight is safely behind you.

Although you may want to give everything you own a good scrubbing, just to be safe.

SHELTER IN PLACE (OPT OUT)

Prefer to opt-out? No worries. As soon as Patient Zero arrives, Dahlia begins contacting as many people as she can confirm are healthy under the guise of a “meeting”, providing somewhere safe and comfortable to stay until all this blows over. Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty to do there.

SLUMBER PARTY

Word of the afflicted stranger wandering the town hasn’t even reached every ear before Dahlia begins approaching people and insisting they come up to her mansion. She doesn’t use sending stones or even the phone to issue these invites. She simply walks up to you, whether she knows you or not, eyes you suspiciously for a moment, and then informs you that your presence is needed at her estate as soon as possible. “Bring your essentials,” she says vaguely. “And don’t touch anything outside your house until you get to the manor.”

No, she’s not accepting recommendations, requests, or demands for who is allowed to come in. No, she’s not explaining why. No, your relationships with her or others don’t have any bearing either. She is choosing apparently at random--- although, those who know her well might be able to guess that her senses are keen enough to tell her who has been infected, and who has not. If you say no, she will not push, but you get the impression that you probably should not refuse, based on Dahlia’s serious demeanor.

By the end of day one, Dahlia’s gates are locked, and her doors and windows barricaded. Only then does she explain--- including the caveat that the doors will not open, come hell or high water, until the trouble is confirmed to have passed. No one in, no one out, no exceptions.

MURDER MYSTERY MANSION

As the days drag on, the waiting grows dull. Not the sort of dreary dullness of calm days spent whiling away the hours, but that sort of anxious boredom characterized by helpless dread. Loved ones are worried after. Attacks at the gates grow more frequent, and louder. Thankfully rations seem plentiful enough in the house of the wealthy heiress, but some of the things dwelling here need to eat things other than what can be found in the cupboard. And it can only be delayed so long.

At some point in the week and change that the plague darkens Pumpkin Hollow’s collective doorstep, Miles Upshur disappears from the manor for a day, evidently snatched up by something or someone he couldn’t see in the middle of the night. Blessedly, he resurrects inside the building, but now there is a new worry--- who, or what, killed Miles? The boredom is swiftly replaced by a whodunnit mystery, but is that better or worse?

For the sake of the timeline not conflicting with House Calls, this will resolve itself within the span of one full week, likely coming to full conclusion by the 23rd. Backtagging is always welcome and encouraged, however!

Threaded | Flat

Out of nowhere, you are approached by Dahlia Leeds.

At first, she says nothing, just staring at you long and hard and taking a deep breath. This is unusual for her, compared to her usual socialite pleasantries. But her expression is hard and strange.

"I need you to go up to my estate," she says bluntly. "As soon as possible. You're needed for an important meeting. Bring your essentials, and don't touch anything outside of your own house until you're inside the mansion. Understood? It's extremely important."

Includes the radio tower, closest to market area for provisions.

Next door to main clinic, medical staff should convene here.

Led by Neil West, easy access to woods and bluffs.

Led by John Rambo, most remote location, resulting in low impact from Blight. Confer with Liz before posting here.

Closes early. Opt-out only.

When the outbreak first begins, Drelasa takes time away from the forge to help the clinics care for their incoming cases. She is unafraid of the disease, knowing that her unearthly flesh is subject only to its own native plague. She supports and guides the shaking, and hears the ramblings of the delirious. This is not unlike what she was trained to do in Kogoruhn.

She has no idea just how much it will be like Kogoruhn.

She's cared for Acolytes before. She was an Acolyte at one point herself. It's not a mystery why outsiders call them "Ash Zombies." The obsessive mutterings and cyclical tasks of Initiates give way to the Acolyte's frightened, senseless anger and screaming as their forming spirit-heart leeches mass from their brain. Communicating with them is not easy. They lash out with their claws, begging for an answer, begging for rest.

So it is frightfully, painfully familiar when the infected begin to cycle, and more so still when the violence breaks out in earnest. Again, she does not run, she does not hide. It takes quite a lot to seriously wound her, and she will do what she can to calm and still the rampaging afflicted.

It should not be possible.

Every time she shifts, Nimona is born anew. The body around her collapses and reforms and is never the same twice, even when she dons a shape she's worn a million times before. It's why she doesn't get sick, and why few things short of a sword through the heart will kill her for good.

But when a virus only needs two hours to replicate past the point of no return... well. Nimona's lingered in one shape for longer than that before. That's all it takes for Thatcher's Blight to latch on to a bloodstream that should be impossible to infect.

She feels weird. It's not just the coughing or the fever: when she tries to shift, there's an uncomfortable sluggishness to it, like she's yanking on yards of taffy just to get a different set of ears. Nimona is finite all of a sudden. What she had in human shape is all she's got to work with now, and she can't dredge up any more material to form something new. No, scratch that. She's scared to. Like a rabid dog shying away from water, the idea of altering herself too much makes her throat contract in terror.

(After all, as long as she keeps the same brain, blood, sweat, and spit, the virus can continue burning her for fuel.)

She vanishes into the forest when the looping stage starts. Who knows what she does out there. It's not that important anyway when most of the island's started locking down by then. Nobody has to worry until she stumbles back out a day later.

In her delirium, she kept trying to shift as much as she could. Patches of ragged, damp fur streak down her arms, which have grown too long and spindly, the wrists reversed like she cracked and twisted their bones. She leans on them for balance as she walks. Her legs have coiled up under her like a cat perpetually waiting to pounce. Something hangs limp from her back -- maybe it's skin, half-melted, maybe a failed attempt at wings. When she snarls soundlessly, her lips retract from hundreds of teeth so thin and sharp that they've cut her own mouth bloody.

Nimona's eyes glow. The lights are quite literally on, but nobody's home.

And she's just spotted you.

Better run.

The First Hours - Oak & Iron
Imbros has never been sick before. Even pre-Illithid he'd never been ill, though he'd been poisoned and drugged, but that isn't quite the same. The closest he'd come is when he ate someone from the Feywild and felt like he was probably going to die but couldn't find the capacity to do anything about it. ('Tripping Balls' was the phrase their Cleric used.)

This is different. He can't cough, and doesn't have a nose, but he feels sluggish and warm and his skin is dried out in an uncomfortable way. The normal thing to do would be to go up to his room and lay down.

But this is a mindflayer - he never does anything normal. He's down in the tavern taking up one of the tables with all his journals and paperwork like normal, but instead he's taking furious notes on everything he's feeling. Knowledge is never wasted!

He's not writing in his normal Qualith (the dots and squiggles some may have seen him use before, he's a fixture in this tavern), but in another sharp, spikey language vertically from top to bottom, left to right. Later that day it may become obvious by the shape of the letters that he's written the same page several times in a row.

The Later Stages - the Woods
It takes a while to realize what's happening, after all it's hard to notice things you don't realize you've forgotten. But once he recognizes that he's having trouble remembering things he panics. For anyone who's in the Oak & Iron one moment he's there, the next he's teleported away leaving behind his bag, his dagger, and all his books.

Fortunately the panic doesn't last long because once he's in the woods he can't remember what he came out there for. Where is he going? What is he doing? He wanders aimlessly unsure where he is - walking rather than levitating and occasionally tripping over things and knocking into trees as if he's lost some of his spatial awareness.

He's not violent at this point, just confused, and he looks terrible. His tentacles look desiccated - his skin sunken in and all the bones in his skull and fingers are clearly visible. Instead of being a vibrant purple he's a sallow sort of grey. Occasionally he gestures and casts something, but it doesn't seem to be working. For the magically inclined he's trying to cast 'Sending' but who he's trying to contact isn't in this realm so the spell keeps failing.

Eventually he simply stands in the middle of a clearing, staring all around like he's found himself at the bottom of the ocean suddenly. There's definitely an undercurrent of anxiety about all of this, his tentacles twitching nervously.

-False Decline / Furious Form-

If one looks to the streets, one can find Martin Blackwood deep in the throes of the Blight. He’d been out by the Bluffs for a while, but has found his way deliriously back to the Oak & Iron, though he seems to be struggling to figure out how to get in. This far into the forgetting stage, he seems to be unable to remember how to use the stairs, so he walks around aimlessly outside the tavern, face flushed, hair drenched with sweat, glasses cracked. He has a stick in his hand, and a cloud of fog has gathered at his feet. He walks a clumsy circle on the cobblestone, stops in front of the stairs, huffs frustratedly, and takes another lap, muttering to himself.

“Just go away, go away, go away, I just--- want to be alone, just leave me alone, just go away, just, leave me alone--- Alone, I want to be alone, go away…”

But then, he stops, and looks hard at something nearby. What has he caught sight of? Just an object? Or is it a person? Is it you?

Regardless, he storms over, as if in a tizzy, about to give someone or something a piece of his mind. There’s a strange staticky quality to his voice as he speaks next, and the fog around him roils like a pot boiling over.

“₲Ø. ₳₩₳Ɏ.”

-Paralytic Form-

Several hours later, Martin has collapsed on the dirt roads of Northwest Hollow, stick abandoned, covered in blood. Whose blood is it? His own? Martin wouldn’t know, even if he were lucid--- something he certainly is not.

Haze has overtaken him. He’s… searching, He doesn’t know what for. But smeared with blood and dirt, he drags his body along agonizingly until he no longer can. He can only barely lift his head. He rolls onto his side, and cries out, his voice cracking with agony.

“JON!” he wails. “J-Jon! Wh-where are you? Where are you? Hello? Oh god, Jon! Please! I’m scared, it hurts! Jon? Jon? Jon, I’m scared! I don’t want to be alone!”

“I don’t want to be alone…!”

False Decline

Yesterday, Zivia called in sick. A bad cold, or something flu-like. She'll be fine at home, she said, rest and plenty of fluids, and she'll use her sending stone to call for a doctor if she feels any worse.

Probably it was just a bad cold, she figures, because this morning she feels a lot better. And it's a Wednesday, isn't it? She's pretty sure it's Wednesday. Which means full shift at Town Hall and then grocery shopping, so she'd better get dressed and get started.

Except she gets turned away at Town Hall. Not once but twice, as she forgets on her way home that she isn't supposed to be going to work. That ends ... badly, or about as well as it could, depending on one's perspective.

This evening, there is a skinny gray-striped cat on Zivia's front porch, prowling back and forth and wailing piteously at the barricaded door.

[Find Zivia on her way to work, or talk to her through the door. Maybe the barricade is all a big mistake, or a cruel prank? Help a lady out, why don't you?]

Furious Form

By the next night the cat has fled, most likely hiding under the porch, after Zivia's first attempt to attack it.

She's stumbling down a downtown street well after dark, with no obvious destination in mind. She's dressed as though she's forgotten how, in a loose jacket over a long linen nightgown, shoes but no socks, short graying hair in disarray, glasses missing. She doesn't look dangerous at all; she looks small, and lost, and badly ill.

(Depending on the light, she looks either younger than usual, or far older.)

If she sees you, she will immediately shift to move in your direction, as that vague distant look transforms into a shockingly savage snarl.

[Get attacked by Zivia, or narrowly avoid it! Someone is likely to kill her during this stage.]

After

Twenty-four hours to roam the town as a ghost, invisible and intangible but clear-headed, has given Zivia a decent understanding of what's going on here. Which is why when she wakes on the beach at dawn, she stops only briefly at home -- putting on gloves to handle and thoroughly wash a few items, packing a hasty bag, and putting out extra food for the cat -- before hurrying toward Greymare Library, where the medical staff are convening.

She's not a doctor, but she's going to help however she can.

[Find Zivia at the Greymare Library shelter, or meet her on the way there!]

1. early blight [uninfected]

Daisy doesn't get ill. She'd even go as far as to say she can't get ill, not with the way the Hunt bolsters her. That's been true for a long time, now, and so that's the assumption that she's working on when she decides not to quarantine. She's of more use doing things around town than holed up somewhere and she has people to look out for, so that's what she does.

Loved ones will find her checking in and rather hypocritically trying to make sure they stay hunkered down, whilst those at the quickly forming quarantine shelters may find her offering to run supplies or urge away any of those afflicted that are getting... pushy.

2. mid blight [infected, stages 1-2; cw: possible violence]

The thing is, Daisy's wrong.

She's already long started coughing by the time she realises her mistake, so caught up in her own stubborn belief that she automatically writes it off until she falls into a coughing fit so rough that even she has to stop and lean against something. After that it's hard not to notice the other symptoms, festering beneath the surface of her wilful ignorance. Daisy ends up sliding down to the ground and trying to get herself together enough to decide what to do, but where her inhuman physique is enough to keep the absolute worst of the physical decline at bay, the same can't be said for her mind.

Her head clouds. Should she call... someone? Can't call Dahlia, she's safely tucked away and she told her this wouldn't happen. Erin, Max, Jon, Fever, Valdis—who's even alive, right now? What good would calling them do even if they were?

So, for a while, Daisy does nothing. Just sits there against the side of a building out on the street, coughing up a lung and feeling horribly feverish.

From a distance, she looks obviously sick but ultimately harmless. But, those who get closer may be in for a nasty surprise. As the illness claws away her lucidity, the blood pounds louder and louder in her skull, and sudden movement or sound startles her much more violently than it would anyone else at this stage of infection.

Get too close, catch her off guard, and some unfortunate soul may find themselves on the wrong end of the Hunter's claws.

3. mid blight [stage 3, cw: violence]

But it's as the disease progress that the danger becomes all the more apparent.

Daisy starts looping. Searching for the same people that she's already checked in on, not even aware she's bringing illness to their doorsteps. It might even pass as normal behaviour, if she didn't ask in exactly the same way as she did the first time around, or if there wasn't such an unfocused look in her eyes.

But attempts to encourage her away are only likely to be met with frustration and pushback, and that same hair-trigger violence is getting louder by the minute—anyone who gets too close may be lashed out at. It's like she's rapidly climbing to the peak of the disease far earlier than she should.

There's no quiet to listen to. There is only the blood, and the blood is fighting back the only way it knows how.

4. Wildcard

Daisy will also be doing sending stone calls to people she cares about, or feel free to call her at any stage from before to after infection. Also ghost time shenanigans welcome. After she revives she'll be back to trying to be useful, but will be much more careful. Max has dibs on killing her.

Edited 2024-08-20 00:49 (UTC)

False Decline:

Don's wandering about the town with her usual enthusiasm, attempting to provide aid to those who're afflicted by the blight. On a closer glance, she seems... off though, she frequently coughs between her speeches, and her conversations seem to be incredibly one-sided at times, even sometimes talking to nothing at all. With even further observation, one might notice her repeating the same conversations to the same people. Once she notices you, she spots you and runs over to greet you.

"Salutations! I am Don Quixote, a knight of Justice! Thou'rt afflicted by this blight, art thou not? If thou would not mind, I wish to escort thy to a physician!"

Don glances at you enthusiastically, she seems to assume that you are afflicted with the Blight, regardless of whether or not you have it or not. But a few moments later, she continues, talking over you if you'd voiced any objections to such.

"Art thou able to comprehend mine request? I wish to provide aide to thy even in dire times such as this!"

Furious Form:

Don's wandering around with a strange lance, its crystalline, bloody red blade forming into a double-helix shape. Normally she'd be unable to wield such a thing with how the blight has affected her but it seems almost melded to her own hand, as if it were an extension of her own self rather than an actual weapon. She wears what appears to be a prisoner outfit, atop it worn out pieces of armor and a ragged cloak.

She wanders about aimlessly, striking out at anything and everything that appears to be in her path, muttering unintelligible and jumbled speeches, interspersed with various words about justice and villainy.

She must find villains to fight, nothing else matters. It's the only way she can satisfy this rage. She must quench this thirst for blood she has. And there's plenty of villains around right now. If she spots you, then she'll attempt to attack you in her blind rage, though she's far less agile than she normally is.

After:

Don awakens and it appears that she's dead? She has no memory of how she'd even died... or where she is right now actually. This isn't the City either. More importantly though, it appears Rocinante is missing from her person. That's the more pressing matter. She must be reunited with Rocinante soon.

She appears to be a spirit of sorts now? She's not really sure where she is, but she sees a town afflicted by plague, one that transforms those afflicted into nothing more than mindless puppets to it. It's disgusting, its very existence is revolting to her. It cares not for anything but to spread itself ceaselessly without purpose. That feeling of disgust and contempt lingers with her the entire time she's a ghost, and once she is able to return to life, she finds her way to the shelter at Prague Mill.

She doesn't want to show herself as she is now, but if she's unable to find Rocinante then she'll simply have to wait out this plague. Those who see Don will notice that she wears a strange scarf of sorts now, her running shoes are missing, and her eyes glow a deep red. Her whole personality seems to have changed as well, as if she were a completely different person. She's far colder, talking in a low and deep voice, and is rather evasive of conversations about herself. She doesn't appear to recognize anyone that she once was acquaintances with either.

Edited 2024-08-20 01:26 (UTC)

1. calm before the storm (closed to Dedue)

Dimitri has always been a morning person, to the dismay of many of his friends. He's awake by sunrise, if not before. But when he gets to wake up with Dedue ... he can linger in bed a little while.

The sky is barely grey. Only the groggiest birds have started to chorus. Dimitri rolls onto his side, buries his face in Dedue's shoulder, and settles, listening to his heartbeat.

2. library

a. daylight The name Thatcher's Blight froze Dimitri's blood the moment he heard it. He's seen the name in passing, scouring the library's archives -- but he'd been looking for agricultural data, and while mention of a plague caught his attention, he hadn't made conscious note of it. He's regretting that now.

He's not a physician or a scholar, but he does know records. For most of the duration of the plague, he can be found in the Greymare Library's shelter, assisting the physicians with their research. If they need something found, Dimitri might not know its exact location, but he'll have a guess at its general area.

b. evening
As the others one by one retreat to rest, claimed by exhaustion or common sense, Dimitri remains working. "I'm fine," he assures anyone who suggests he, too, should stop for the night. "I'm looking for a box of records -- I can rest once I've found that. I'm not tired at all."

c. night
But of course, once he's found that box of records, he wants to make a note of why he'd gone looking for it; and that points him to the library's archive of newsletters; and then there's a detour to the encyclopedias, and and and. Driven by a relentless energy, Dimitri registers the fading light only when he can no longer distinguish ink from page.

That energy doesn't release him. With no outlet, Dimitri paces through the stacks and the lobby, defaulting to a patrol loop around the library's perimeter. Anyone who runs into him in the shadows -- investigating the movement, or just in their own late-night wandering -- will be treated to a sharp intake of breath, and a sudden reflective blaze of eyes in the dark.

"Oh -- my apologies. I hope I didn't disturb you."

3. sending stones (semi-closed)

Dimitri will be available by sending-stone throughout. Anyone he knows, even in passing, is liable to get a worried check-in message. Are they safe? Is there anything he can do?

4. wildcard

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a new budding talent? - semi-open to medical staff/anyone at the clinic, pharmacy or library shelter

Claude is undoubtedly fortunate to not have any real experience with plagues-- other than the one caused by the Agarthans in Remire, but that... that had been something else entirely. (Or so he thinks during the first two days, before the course of symptoms fully makes itself known.) But the experience sure would come in handy now... as it is, he's flying by the seat of his pants, quick to learn from the examples of the people around him who have made this sort of thing their job. He picks up quick on the use of gloves and masks when dealing with patients from Hawkeye, got a crash course in vaccine creation from Sally, and is just trying to make himself helpful to the more experienced medical staff however he can.

He's of most use in the library researching, gathering whatever Sally needs for her newest attempt at a vaccine, and helping out with any technical tasks in her lab, but if someone needs help restraining or trying to talk down a patient, he's good for that too, as well as plenty of the more mundane tasks to be done.

When this is all over, he's going to take the biggest nap in the world.

supply run - out and about

It's not food that Claude is sent out for-- it's medical supplies of a specific variety. Any plant or mushroom or whatever they've thought of that might help in manufacturing a cure or a vaccine that they don't already have in stock, or that they've run out of. When it becomes clear that violence is part of the course of the disease, Claude is insistent Sally stay in the shelter; he's quick, he's armed and knows how to fight, and he knows what he's looking for. It's a no-brainer that he be the one to go out whenever needed.

He brings his bow, as well as the sword he'd won from the charity raffle, on runs. Though he tries not to use them, both for the sake of the innocent people who have fallen victim to the disease as well as for his own attempts to not get infected. There's a six-hour quarantine waiting for him on his return either way, but at least if he avoids a fight, it'll only be that.

sending stone - anywhere

Claude generally keeps the sending stone on him more often that not, but it's always on him now-- it makes it easy to keep in contact with everyone, no matter where they ended up during all this. He sends along updates to Cecil of their progress with the vaccine where he can, so he can then distribute it to the rest of Pumpkin Hollow through the radios (very handy inventions, those).

He knew stepping out of shelter to help Daisy would come with risk. He knew he was dooming himself. But he couldn't leave her like that, not after everything she's been through and everything they've shared. She watched him die in that cell on the ship, so it's only fair he be there to return the favor. He doesn't regret his choice, even as those final moments with Daisy still haunt him. The words he heard Basira utter on that tape haunt him worse. Daisy deserved better. So, no, even when the cough starts, he can't bring himself to regret a thing.

As soon as the symptoms start, he goes right back home to the farmhouse. Better to stick it out there in relative comfort. If he barricades the door well enough, he reasons, then he won't accidentally hurt anyone. He didn't account for how confused he'd become. It doesn't take long at all for him to fall into a befuddled state, forgetting that he's infected at all and going about his chores as if on a loop. Thankfully, he believes it to be Sunday, which means the bakery is closed and he has no reason to go out. Instead, he's baking bread. Lots and lots of bread. Somehow the fact that it's piling up on every available flat surface doesn't tip him off, either.

"If we have to spend any longer holed up in here I think I'm going to start eating the walls."

It's only been a couple days, at this point, but Gwen has never been very good at staying in one place for long, especially in a crisis. Her room at Pennyburrow's is slowly starting to feel more like her own but she does not want to be in her room, or anywhere else in the building, she wants to be outside. Doing— something. Helping!

Threaded | Flat

QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/CONCERNS

Dahlia Leeds | Roll Call [pre-Opt-Out]

DOWNTOWN HOLLOW - Town Hall Shelter

DOWNTOWN HOLLOW - Greymare Library Shelter