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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
"I'm sorry, Daisy. We'll have to assassinate him, not fight him. But you first. Do you know where undead-you might be? Haunts she'd seek out?"
no subject
She pulls a face. "Not sure. First one was all over town. Following the easy prey. Could be the same again. Or it could be heading out Leeds way."
The two spaces she spends most of her time, not counting the forest where there's no human victims to be found: downtown around her place, and up at the estate. Much as the first is the most populous, the latter concerns her more.
no subject
There won't be any talk of Dahlia being able to defend herself or the like - there will just be checking in, there will be hunting the Hunt, and they will succeed. There is no other option Fever can allow herself to consider. They're going to handle the un-Daisy as she handled herself, and there is no possibility that they will fail.
no subject
"Don't you have some— spell of 'run faster'?" She doesn't actually know if that's a thing, the only thing consistent about magic in her experience is that it's entirely inconsistent across universes. "But fine. I'll keep pace."
She jerks her head in the vague direction of the most efficient route. She's known these streets long enough now to have the place mapped out like any hunting ground, despite all (thus far successful) attempts to resist turning it into one.
no subject
Daisy didn't ask for the fine details, but Fever's going to give them anyway, feeling vaguely like she needs to defend whatever shortcomings her spells have. Her power is considerable, but very far from omnipotent.
"There's another me around, but I've taken care of her. And I will be taking care of her every day this goes on, actually. That's my solemn promise."
no subject
"Makes sense." The magic explanation or the dedication to taking herself out? Yes. "Explains why I didn't run into her. Been keeping an eye out. For any of us."
'Us' being those she knows damn well are heavy hitters and particular those she's promised to handle if she ever needs to. Even if handling herself has, unfortunately, proved harder than she'd like it to.
no subject
It might not be the quickest, since it's not as though she can just-
Wait.
"I have an idea that can make us both go fast, if you don't need it to be the smoothest of rides."
no subject
Daisy narrows her eyes—she is and will always be slightly more dubious about magic than her own brand of weird just because she's less used to it, but... "Doesn't have to be smooth. What you got in mind?"
no subject
She gestures with her hands in such a way that implies hopping from location to location, traversing in short teleport bursts across a distance.
"It'd be fast, if it works."
no subject
"Magical leapfrog." This is not at all actually an accurate description, but it's what comes to mind. "Sure. Worth a shot."
no subject
That warning distributed, she focuses, drawing a mental line from the point to herself. Daisy is pulled into the spell's embrace, and she braces her hands in the right pose. How much simpler it is to do this one while not under enemy fire - but still, time is of the essence. Colorless light fills her hands, leaves her eyes half glowing.
"Quod dico face."
The Weave sends them forward. The sensation is not unlike stepping through a door to an unknown room, that sudden snap to awareness after running up the stairs two at a time. Light bathes them, and Fever doesn't even need to glance to know Daisy's beside her. Residual magic clings in sparks of lightning static to her - always the sign that she's working power, gathering up the threads of unknown force to do as she bids them. And if it works once, then -
Then she twists her hands, and they do it again. And again, carrying them at a much faster and less taxing speed than running all the way there. Magical leapfrog, all the way to the Leeds Estate.
no subject
Idly, Daisy wonders if this is anything like what it felt like to the others every time they used Helen's doors.
Less idly, she's focused on keeping pace. Not missing her cue to keep moving. It is faster even than her own ridiculous speed and though she doesn't tire easy, it's still convenient.
Still feels weird, mind you. Magic's always weird.
They drop once more onto the path outside the estate's gates and Daisy snaps to attention.
no subject
"Do you sense her?"
Is she somewhere, prowling on these grounds? Is she lurking in some shadow for them to find? And is she woman or beast? Questions to all be answered in due time.
no subject
"...think so."
Tracking her own scent is a strange one, not something she's used to doing. But that doesn't mean she doesn't recognise it. There's a wrongness to the feeling of two of them in one space. The kind of feeling she'd usually associate with the Stranger.
Not wolf shape, she's pretty sure. Pretty sure.
She jerks her head toward the path through the grounds that would lead toward the once-burned ballroom.
no subject
The closer they get, the more Fever feels a prickle of unease, despite all her readiness. It's inevitable, from those still mortal. Traces of Fear, like a perfume on the wind. A lure.