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ph_logs2025-05-21 07:05 pm
pumpkinhollow) wrote in ph_logs2025-05-21 07:05 pm
Entry tags:
May Event - All Too Familiar
May Event - All Too Familiar
Content Warnings: Walking dead, character deaths, potential for gore | Special Thanks to Meghan and Kalineh
It was a fine spring day when mysterious letters began cropping up all over Pumpkin Hollow. Letters whose apparent senders do not remember writing them, whose recipients or discoverers were harmed by reading them. Eventually these mysteries, though still unsolved, come to a quiet halt as stealthily as they began, but not before a mail carrier in a cowboy hat trots out to Elsie’s tree with a letter in hand, unmarked aside from being addressed to her.
Elsie,
River la Croix has been hiding something in her forge for a while now. It is called the Book of the Dead. In its pages are hundreds of spells from across time and space with the power to give life to those no longer with us.
Your father is doing his best to revive your mother. But this island’s barrier is blocking his will, resisting his magic. I can no longer watch you suffer in solitude when a solution exists. All you have to do is decipher the text, and its powers are yours. Your mother will be returned to you.
River does not want to part with it. She will become suspicious of you if you ask, and it will become harder to acquire it. You will have to take it without her notice by levitating it out of her forge. She, like many others, is fearful of the Book’s power. This fear isn’t entirely unwarranted for them, but for you, your connection to the Feywilds’ magic will be enough to grant you access to that otherworldly power.
Good luck, and all my love to your dear mother when she returns.
Fond regards,
A friend
Could this be it? Could this be the miracle she's been waiting for? Hope swells painfully in her chest as she clutches the note close. She mustn't celebrate too early. She still needs to get the book. At least her mysterious friend has already told her where to find it. Her jaw sets in a look of determination, and she speeds away into the dusk.
It doesn't take long to reach the forge. River has defended it well, but Elsie slips into her own shadow and sneaks beneath the door without so much as a whisper of sound. Only her hand extends from the puddle of shadow on the floor inside, like a disembodied arm hovering before the flames. Mustering her will, she reaches out to the ancient book and commands the winds to lift it. Sweat beads her shadowy brow while she concentrates, the flames flicker and dance around the slowly levitating book. Just a little more, a little more… There!
It's heavy in her hand, and remarkably cool to the touch despite having been pulled from the fire. She retracts her arm and the book back into her shadow and slips out the way she came. Her heart thumps in her chest as she races back to the safety of her tree. To her mother, who will soon be able to wrap flesh and blood arms around her like she once did. All that's left now is to read. Her friends have been teaching her how. Her mother will be so proud of her.
Carefully now, she opens the book, feeling her skin crawl as a sudden unease grips her very core. No, she will not be deterred. The language is unlike any she's ever seen. The letters, if indeed they can be called that, feel jagged and painful to her mind. Still, she will Not Give Up. She screws her eyes shut, thinks of her mother, and holds tight to her desperate hope to be reunited.
When her eyes reopen to behold the page before her, understanding strikes like lightning. Suddenly, she knows she can speak the words. As they escape her mouth, an unknown magic swells into the space around her, then beyond her. The ground shakes. The air turns foul. And as the trinkets in Elsie’s tree chime together in the unsettling breeze, ringing out with notes more sour than usual, it quickly becomes clear that the advice she received was not from any friend.
The forms of people begin to pry themselves loose from the ground all over town, as if emerging from water, leaving the ground unbroken as they lift themselves out of the ground. They bear horrid injuries, shambling along grotesquely, telling a story of death. However, these are not skeletons from the graveyard, housing the souls of long-dead locals. These are things of flesh and blood, however exposed they might be, wearing newer faces.
Much newer.
Since the barrier went up, many people have died, only to have their bodies vanish and replaced by a new one. Those bodies now walk the town, seeking to unleash a wrath brought on by the corrupted magic of the Necronomicon. Anyone who has died inside the barrier will have a violent, undead copy of themself representing each death wandering the island looking to increase their ranks. Which means that there will be many, many, many Yoricks.
Destroyed copies will remain destroyed for the standard overnight period of any other person. But there are too many of them to defeat this way, and their destruction is impermanent. Thankfully, help is on the way!
In the midst of the undead and their attack on the citizens of Pumpkin Hollow, tiny glimmers of hope appear in the form of folded paper birds. The little gold birds flit from fighter to fighter, small whispers promising that if enough enemies can be felled then the High Priestess can intervene. The necessary number is unknown, but if a bird alights upon someone, they will feel their weariness vanish for a short time, and perhaps, should she feel like it, they may receive a temporary boon to use against the undead.
Eventually the High Priestess will show herself, making good on the promises of the little birds. With a smile, her magic will wrap around the remaining undead, returning them to the unseen graves and binding them into Death once more, leaving the living to pick up the pieces.
She gleefully rips open that letter, hoping it's another message from her father. It isn't and, at first, she's crushed. But only until she starts to actually read it.
Elsie,
River la Croix has been hiding something in her forge for a while now. It is called the Book of the Dead. In its pages are hundreds of spells from across time and space with the power to give life to those no longer with us.
Your father is doing his best to revive your mother. But this island’s barrier is blocking his will, resisting his magic. I can no longer watch you suffer in solitude when a solution exists. All you have to do is decipher the text, and its powers are yours. Your mother will be returned to you.
River does not want to part with it. She will become suspicious of you if you ask, and it will become harder to acquire it. You will have to take it without her notice by levitating it out of her forge. She, like many others, is fearful of the Book’s power. This fear isn’t entirely unwarranted for them, but for you, your connection to the Feywilds’ magic will be enough to grant you access to that otherworldly power.
Good luck, and all my love to your dear mother when she returns.
Fond regards,
A friend
Could this be it? Could this be the miracle she's been waiting for? Hope swells painfully in her chest as she clutches the note close. She mustn't celebrate too early. She still needs to get the book. At least her mysterious friend has already told her where to find it. Her jaw sets in a look of determination, and she speeds away into the dusk.
It doesn't take long to reach the forge. River has defended it well, but Elsie slips into her own shadow and sneaks beneath the door without so much as a whisper of sound. Only her hand extends from the puddle of shadow on the floor inside, like a disembodied arm hovering before the flames. Mustering her will, she reaches out to the ancient book and commands the winds to lift it. Sweat beads her shadowy brow while she concentrates, the flames flicker and dance around the slowly levitating book. Just a little more, a little more… There!
It's heavy in her hand, and remarkably cool to the touch despite having been pulled from the fire. She retracts her arm and the book back into her shadow and slips out the way she came. Her heart thumps in her chest as she races back to the safety of her tree. To her mother, who will soon be able to wrap flesh and blood arms around her like she once did. All that's left now is to read. Her friends have been teaching her how. Her mother will be so proud of her.
Carefully now, she opens the book, feeling her skin crawl as a sudden unease grips her very core. No, she will not be deterred. The language is unlike any she's ever seen. The letters, if indeed they can be called that, feel jagged and painful to her mind. Still, she will Not Give Up. She screws her eyes shut, thinks of her mother, and holds tight to her desperate hope to be reunited.
When her eyes reopen to behold the page before her, understanding strikes like lightning. Suddenly, she knows she can speak the words. As they escape her mouth, an unknown magic swells into the space around her, then beyond her. The ground shakes. The air turns foul. And as the trinkets in Elsie’s tree chime together in the unsettling breeze, ringing out with notes more sour than usual, it quickly becomes clear that the advice she received was not from any friend.
The forms of people begin to pry themselves loose from the ground all over town, as if emerging from water, leaving the ground unbroken as they lift themselves out of the ground. They bear horrid injuries, shambling along grotesquely, telling a story of death. However, these are not skeletons from the graveyard, housing the souls of long-dead locals. These are things of flesh and blood, however exposed they might be, wearing newer faces.
Much newer.
Since the barrier went up, many people have died, only to have their bodies vanish and replaced by a new one. Those bodies now walk the town, seeking to unleash a wrath brought on by the corrupted magic of the Necronomicon. Anyone who has died inside the barrier will have a violent, undead copy of themself representing each death wandering the island looking to increase their ranks. Which means that there will be many, many, many Yoricks.
Destroyed copies will remain destroyed for the standard overnight period of any other person. But there are too many of them to defeat this way, and their destruction is impermanent. Thankfully, help is on the way!
In the midst of the undead and their attack on the citizens of Pumpkin Hollow, tiny glimmers of hope appear in the form of folded paper birds. The little gold birds flit from fighter to fighter, small whispers promising that if enough enemies can be felled then the High Priestess can intervene. The necessary number is unknown, but if a bird alights upon someone, they will feel their weariness vanish for a short time, and perhaps, should she feel like it, they may receive a temporary boon to use against the undead.
Eventually the High Priestess will show herself, making good on the promises of the little birds. With a smile, her magic will wrap around the remaining undead, returning them to the unseen graves and binding them into Death once more, leaving the living to pick up the pieces.
no subject
Luckily, yes. Though I suspect there is another me running around and I have no desire to face her at this moment.
She drops to her belly without hesitation.
If you want to help, then get on, we'll be faster if you ride.
Hopefully the woman isn't a newbie, but even if she is, Valdis is swift and agile enough to not let her fall.
no subject
A grimace rolling down her shoulders. If her corpse is anything like she's seeing her now— armed with teeth and claws and a bite-force that parts men in two— she doesn't envy Valdis in the slightest, nor anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves clamped between undead jaws.
She hesitates for a moment, then grabs onto thick black scruff and throws herself over Valdis's back. Slots four hefty bullet's into her rifle chamber once she's steadied herself.
The wolf's ribs inflate and compress beneath her, power in each tremendous breath.
"What's the plan, ma'am?"
no subject
The plan is to kill as many as possible. That's what the paper birds told me and for some reason I believe we can trust what they say. Just don't shoot me in the head by accident, we don't need two of me wreaking havoc.
She starts at a walk, then rolls into a ground covering trot, testing the woman's balance.
no subject
Carolina cocks her rifle, the fierce metal-against-metal echoing up through her arm and into her shoulder. Deeper, still, into her veins. Into her soldier's heart, beating in tandem with it; inspiring it. This is what she was made for. Her spot on Valdis's back couldn't feel more fitting.
"Copy that. You won't have a single hair out of place."
Undead scramble in every direction. Throw themselves, mouths open, fingers splayed, at any living, breathing creature within reach. They're egregiously outnumbered. It doesn't matter. Believing you'll win, even if the odds are stacked in a tower against you, is half the fight.
She lines up a shot. Squeezes trigger. Fire—
Blood and dead brain-matter spray. The first body collapses.
Aim, fire—
Carolina's rifle bucks against her shoulder. She bucks with it, breathes with it. A second body falls. Fire— a third body. She floats on Valdis's back, knees hugging ribs, hips seeing every long stride through. Years of ballet turn balance into a lethal weapon.
no subject
As for Valdis? Well, she's perfectly happy to play keep-away with the raving hoard of undead, bringing Carolina in close before darting away again, letting bodies fall behind her as she stays just ahead of any grabbing hands or weapons. She breaks into a lope, running circles around the undead like a sheepdog, having perhaps a bit more fun that she should be having.
It's a odd sort of trust they seem to sudden have, but warriors have a tendency to fall into step when the need arises.
no subject
Carolina stays her focus as the world whirls around her, and there is nothing and no one that can take this away. She breathes easy. Feels her mind slot into familiar patterns of ready, aim, fire. The unlucky corpses who enter her line of sight are cleanly obliterated. Bodies hit the ground like limp sacks of flour. Clambering over them, a dozen more undead.
Two rounds— four— eight. Human shrapnel and blood coat the grass. Her rifle's muzzle burns. She slides in four brass bullets and is met with resistance on cocking. Fuck. Piece of junk.
Undead sweep the horizon.
Carolina tugs once on Valdis's scruff, then careens down into the grass.
"I need a minute. Can you cover me?"
no subject
Valdis slides to a stop when Carolina tugs on her, requesting cover. The giant wolf puts herself between the woman and the undead, reaching out gently to touch Carolina's soul with her magic, not to harm it, but to quickly memorize it. She doesn't have time to ask permission, and it's better than the alternative.
A cold wave spreads across Carolina, reaching for the quickly approaching undead. They fall in droves, but Carolina remains untouched, and Valdis didn't even have to move a muscle.
no subject
For all the death involved in interplanetary war, she had never considered the idea of souls until she feels her's touched. Piercing, glacier cold encompasses her. Protects the small and unfurling warmth between her ribs. It laps outward in waves. She can't shake the feeling of having been broken into rudimentary parts and studied.
Awestruck, she forgets what she's supposed to be doing.
Right. Jammed.
Carolina kneels and kicks open her chamber, sticks a finger in and feels around. There you are. She fishes out a small metal rod from her bag and beats the living hell out of the jammed bullet. It slides out through the muzzle and onto the grass. In goes four more.
"Ready!" Carolina throws her legs over Valdis's spine. "What was that?"
no subject
Valdis starts moving again, choosing to get some distance between them and maybe lead the undead away from the houses.
The end of life in it's purest form. She turns, getting her companion lined up with the droves. It is but one of the weapons I can wield. I apologize for not asking permission, but I needed to exclude your soul from the draw.
no subject
She readies, aims, fires an onslaught of brass in beats of four— bam, bam, bam and another. Smoke trickles up into the air, momentarily snuffing out undead stench. She's grateful for that, in a back-of-mind sort of way. Breathes deeper, clearer. Smoke into lungs into newly discovered soul.
"Usually you'd take someone out for dinner first," Carolina jokes dryly on the tail-end of reloading. She flicks her chamber closed and takes aim, percussion to Valdis's paw-beaten rhythm. "Now I see why you're the big boss. What else you got?"
no subject
It's hard to tell if she's joking or not, but Valdis continues to move, carrying Carolina through the fray, staying just out of reach of the undead. There's a building ahead, casting a long shadow.
What else do I have? Hold on tight.
Valdis dives into the shadow, carrying her temporary partner through the darkness only to emerge from another shadow on the other side of town.
I think we need a breather.
no subject
"It depends. What are we eating?"
Valdis bounds toward the tall, flat facade of the nearest building, and Carolina's convinced she intends to run them straight through it. Oh, great. Concussions and zombies.
She braces, hair a frenzied, windswept flame against her face; arms locked around the wolf's wide throat. Too wide for her hands to meet, and so she anchors fingers deep into fur, presses low and—
A flash of black. A fullness in her ears.
They're in that cool, in-between place for the time it takes to cross from one room into another.
Carolina raises her head a little once they've remerged. Holy shit. "Fine by me."
no subject
What would you like?
She knows exactly where she is, having memorized every part of the town itself, and comes to a stop outside of Max's bakery.
I have a feeling neither of us are prepared to take a long rest, not while the undead run around the island, but a few moments will do us no harm.
no subject
"Oh." Carolina blinks. "We're actually eating."
As if on cue, hunger gouges her. Long, comical grrrrr. It's a cycle she torments herself with often, albeit unintentionally; exerting herself to an extreme, neglecting basic needs, then hounding down a day's worth of food by nightfall.
Yeah, she could probably use some sweets.
Valdis's shoulder blades sink and rise beneath her. She rests idle hands in her fur. "It's not us I'm worried about. It's everyone else."
no subject
Just let me shift before you come in. Max keeps extra clothing in the back.
Luckily the place is empty as her partner is at Baker Ranch for safety, but all the food he makes stays fresh and warm so nothing will be stale.
no subject
Carolina throws a leg over the wolf's hunches and lands with an oomf. She ambles toward one of several windows. Behind it, a saccharine display like she's never seen.
Extra clothes. Hm. Must have some kind of thing going on. Not that she typically involves herself in the isle's hottest relationship gossip.
"Give the window a tap when you're done."
no subject
Only a few moments later and she is opening the front door to let Carolina inside.
"You can have anything you like, I know how hungry fighting can make someone."
no subject
Carolina slides in through the door, scanning for danger— a force of habit. You can never be too safe. Don't ever leave your back unguarded. Not with undead threats idling in every dark nook and cranny, waiting to attack.
"You'll cover me if this Max guy starts asking where all his food went, right?"
Breathing deeply, Carolina takes in the scent of sugar and fresh bread. The still-warm oven blankets the space in whatever was last cooked inside it. Something with lemon, if she were to guess. Hunger rakes through her stomach. She collects a handful of bread rolls and begins wolfing them down.
no subject
"'This Max guy' is my life partner, and he would happily feed you himself if he were here."
She knows Max would make sure everyone was well fed if he had the chance, but he had gone to Baker Ranch so she didn't need to worry about him and could focus on her job.
Valdis grabs a roll for herself and takes a bite, savoring the sweetness of it.
no subject
She pauses mid-bite, wincing a little. Good job on the social blunder, Carolina. You wanna try and walk that back?
"Oh. Right. That's nice. Did you... meet here?"
no subject
no subject
"That's fair," she says, reaching for another roll and splitting it in half. "Better things to think about. Like—" through a mouthful of bread, "—what was that, the shadow thing? You're not like other magic people I've seen around town."
no subject
"No, I'm not like the others, because what I wield isn't really magic. What I have is inherent to my particular subset of my species. It is not something that can be learned, only used. If you had to put it in a category, it would be somewhat similar to necromancy at its core."