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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
"Of course I can." He reaches around and brings out a small knife he keeps in a sheathe at the small of his back. It's razor sharp and well-balanced. "I'll watch your back, you carry the food."
no subject
"Thanks. Copy that," he says. He eyes the knife with mild trepidation -- wow, Max was just carrying that around like it was no big deal?! -- before peeking out the back door. "...Looks like it's all clear."
Carefully, caaaaarefully, he starts tiptoeing toward the shed.
no subject
Seeing the way Radar looks at the knife, Max sheepishly ducks his head. "I swear, I do know what I'm doing with this. I've been training for eight or nine years by now." This is meant to be reassuring. Debatable if it is.
He's is right behind as they tiptoe out. At first, all seems fine. They make it to the shed without incident. But Max is still keeping his eyes out. Good thing, because there's a group of six Yoricks shambling their way and the winds have just shifted.
"I think we better take what we have and go. I see a group heading our way."
no subject
He stiffens, a bucket of rabbit feed cradled in both arms, as he hears the inbound Yoricks. "Shoot," he hisses. "Okay, c'mon -- "
He sidles toward the door and peeks around Max. But... he's not looking in the same direction.
From the opposite side of the ranch, in tandem with the group Max spotted, a second pack of Yoricks has begun to close in on them.
cw: suicidal ideation
"Shit. Okay, we might need a new plan. We could close ourselves in here and hope they lose interest or..." a beat while he thinks of what else "...or I could transform into a wolf and try to keep them off you while you run back." He doesn't expect to survive that option but at least Radar would be able to get home with the food.
no subject
(He thinks of that paper bird, and the little half-crumpled card in his pocket. Justice. The anxiety quiets.)
"I think if we both run we can make it. Turn into a wolf just in case, but -- if we just stay put they're gonna break in sooner or later, right? We gotta get moving. And nobody's gonna die," he says, firmly, just to get the rest of the breaking-bone noise out of his head. "Not if we're quick."
Just like running from snipers, right? They can do this.
no subject
"Yeah, that's what I think too. Can you please pick my clothes up after I shift? I'll still be able to talk to you telepathically, so you don't have to worry about that part."
As soon as he finishes that sentence, he shifts forms right there in place. It's painful, every bone in his body crunching and crackling as they bend and reshape, but it's over so quickly he barely does more than grunt from the discomfort. Just like that, there's a unusually small black wolf, roughly the size and shape of a German Shephard, standing in a puddle of Max's clothes before Radar.
You open the door and I'll run out first to clear the way while you follow. Okay?
no subject
"Got it," he says, already scooping up Max's clothes to bundle them in his arms with the rabbit food. "Okay, on three. One. Two..."
And on three!, he flings the door open.
no subject
Go now! He yells into Radar's mind as his teeth close around the hand of a third zombie that was reaching for the man.
A pitiful yelp of surprise leaves his canine throat as another of the zombies bites down on his right haunch, but the thickness of his fur is protective, and the teeth only make shallow cuts before sliding away. Okay, okay, he can do this. He's got armor!
I'm fine! Don't look back! Just get inside!
no subject
But he forces himself out of the brief stumble and keeps running, arms locked tight around the feed bag and Max's clothes. One of the Yoricks lunges for him, fingers grazing his sleeve, and Radar screams as he twists away and almost overbalances. He catches himself against --
The back door!
Fast as he can, Radar hip-checks it open -- well, more like rams it awkwardly with his whole side -- and scrambles through. "I'm in!" he yells to Max. "C'mon, quick!"
no subject
Max lunges forward and yanks the zombie that was going for Radar away with his jaws before it can try again, thrashing the thing until its arm falls off. Max is still gripping it like a dog bone when he turns to look.
Coming!
With a triumphant bark, he drops the arm and throws himself through the door, trusting Radar to slam it behind them both as soon as he's across the threshold.
You okay? He asks, while heavily panting.
no subject
A little frazzled, and panting nearly as hard as Max from both the sprint and the adrenaline of almost becoming Zorick food, but he's good!
The rabbit food hits the floor with a thump, Max's clothes settling on top of it. Without even realizing he's done it, Radar gives Max a little instinctive scritch behind the ears. Tired animals always need comfort, even if those tired animals are usually your human friend most of the time.
"You okay too?"
no subject
Yes, I'm okay. Wow. That was the first time I ever did battle in my wolf form before. Someone should have warned me how bad biting zombies tastes, yuck!!
His tongue stretches out of his mouth as if he's trying to air the taste out of it.
I'm really glad we both made it. Thanks for trusting me to have your back.
no subject
"Wow, that was your first time? I never woulda thought it from how good you did! Thanks for having my back -- boy, if you hadn't been there I really would've been toast." He gives Max one more pat on the head before withdrawing. "You wanna get something good out of the kitchen so you don't taste zombies anymore?"
no subject
His tail waggles again from the praise and petting both. Hey, what the hell, maybe he can stay in this shape for a while and style himself as an emotional support dog for the rest of the day. He's not in a big hurry to put clothes back on.
Yeah, I'd love that. You don't mind if I stay like this a little longer, do you? I'd just ask you to lay my clothes out somewhere until I need them again.
wrap?
Heck, Edgar's room is pretty much Max's room anyway whenever he visits, so it works out perfect.
"C'mon. I know we still got pancakes and bacon from earlier."
Yeah! Good wrap!
Yeah! He both says and barks in his excitement. That sounds perfect. Thank you. Bacon tastes really good with a dog tongue.
He excitedly lopes ahead into the kitchen calling back, "Let's go."