#The Lostland

[htg17]

Scenes from our game:

-Carnival ghouls on deadly carousel

-Meeting all kind of people on streets

-Hornet fighting with transformed Alchemist Rebecca

-Lady Grey, turning people around her into experiments, waiting for us

[xnikandrosx]

open location: The Lostlands, Sunken Ruins notes: smells like sermon

If word of mouth was to be believed, the High King had been taken and now more than ever, the people of Iskaldrik were lost. Desperate and confused. Magic had already taken so much from their ignorant society of pagan warriors, one by one the congregation had grown as the pious peddled hope that befit the needs of common people. Iskarans venerated violent deities that demanded they fight and sacrifice, but the average person only wanted a season with fair winds, and a crop without plague. The blight was a product of sorcery, an infection that was allowed to take root in this world because magic went unchecked.

"The Old Gods will call to you, From their ancient prisons they will sing. Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts, On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight, The first of My children, lost to night. With passion'd breath does the darkness creep. It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep."

If they had learned nothing else, then Nikandros hoped they knew that the Dark One awaited around every corner. Wanting, scheming, and conniving. These Iskarans would need to learn the lessons from their past; several had joined ranks with the Legion of the Dead, a noble effort - no sacrifice was greater than theirs.

As the crowd dispersed, Nikandros gathered himself amid the ruins that were half claimed by the bog. A decorative sword hung at the Inquisitor's hip, but it was really only for ceremonial purposes. Freedom was within their grasp, all that remained between him and Lysara was the troublesome wall of prismatic light.

"Did you enjoy the service?" Nik had been holding one every day since they landed in the winding caverns of Ymir's Spine. He prayed over the blighted youth and offered a coin for their passing before they were set upon their pyre. A prayer to see them off, then holy flames to cleanse them before they landed upon the other side.

[witchertorsten]

@afshinxeldar location: The Lostlands notes: reunited and it feels so good

tw: limb loss

In the end, Torsten had played no part in the retrieval of The Princess, he had not even managed to stop the Aetherians from taking High King Orhan. Amid a field of slain Iskaran Vikings, Berserkers, and Witchers, Torsten had stood with the Raven Feeder, Njal, Etienne... and the boy's dog against a warrior with whom they stood no chance in defeating.

Torsten and the others had been recovered and stabilized, taken to The Lostlands where a strange humidity made the world around them feel pungent. A makeshift infirmary was set up in one of the ruins, and Torsten sat on the edge of the bed that had been constructed as he made an effort to dress himself. The place where his sword had been was vacant now, he could feel it in the moments when he would reach for something, the habit hadn't died yet, but Torsten was as proficient with his offhand as he was his main.

Sulking was not in his nature, and neither was regret. He refused to slink about in self-pity and remorse, already the witcher's thoughts were toward the training yard. The Iskarans were trapped here under the weight of a prismatic wall, an obstacle that would need to be overcome.

When the door opened he met the eyes of the Prince and the errant thought in the back of his mind was how Afshin might see him differently now. A failure? Less of a man? The opinions of others didn't matter to Torsten, but an uncomfortable amount of his ego hinged upon this one.

"My liege," Torsten said stiffly, holding the other's gaze for a moment before he swallowed and returned to the task of fitting his mithril greaves over one of his shins.

[prcspero]

closed starter for @ormir location: lostlands note: old men befriend each other

Normally, when Prospero saw someone that looked like they didn't want to be spoken to, he steered clear. However, it looked like this one in particular looked awfully stressed. It wasn't a normal occurrence for him to offer up his flask to anyone so it was clear that the other man looked very distressed. It was a curse of Prospero's to try and help when he didn't really need to. He often thought about how he didn't care about much else other than the people he had come to care for, but that simply wasn't true. He looked out for anyone that he felt needed it because he knew he couldn't save everyone. If he tried, it would mean something though, wouldn't it? That was why he held the flask out towards the other man.

"You look a bit lost in thought, friend. That's a bad thing these days."

[witchernjal]

closed starter for @witchertorsten

location: lostlands note: ay fellas is it gay to help your friend if he has 1 arm

To say the least, Njal had not thought that any of them would make it back. After what they had endured, he was entirely convinced that they would all perish on the battlefield. It was what he had always expected for himself. It was what he had hoped for really. If he was to go, he would have at least hoped he would have went down fighting. Thankfully, he lived to fight another day. He was in better condition than Torsten was, that was for sure. His natural instinct was to let his dear friend acclimate on his own. If he were to check on the other witcher now, he felt like it would seem like he thought the other was fragile and that just wasn't the case. However, he had stayed away from some time now. It felt only fitting that he visit now in hopes that Torsten was maybe in better spirits. Not that he would know if the man was in bad spirits in the slightest.

As he walked into the room, he immediately caught sight of the missing appendage. He moved to sit across from Torsten, arm resting on the back of his chair. "So what are your plans when this barrier goes down?" There was probably something in Lysara to help with the other's missing limb and he knew for sure that Torsten had thought about it just as much as he had, maybe even more.

[alucardrakul]

@riandur location: the lostlands notes: riandur for field officer (president)

Alucard was throwing things.

The golden symbol of Lusacan and the Church of Night remained emblazoned on his cloak as the dhampir's red eyes shifted toward the nearest tree. It swelled at the center of its trunk and exploded, sending splitters of wood flying in every direction.

A dragon?

A dragon??

A blighted dragon?!

It wasn't fair!!

Vicoya and Riandur must have looked so cool fighting that thing together; by now Alucard had eavesdropped his way into hearing every possible version of his story, biting his knuckle as the details unraveled with greater detail.

It wasn't fair!

Another tree exploded before a gator snapped at him, forcing Alucard to ascend a bit higher, pouting in a way that was very distinctive of the dhampir... Which was to say he was hovering with his arms folded while he stared off into the distance with the same, unblinking gaze that he always did.

Their field officer was dead, there hadn't been word from Ankhuria in years, and Alucard was- he didn't know what to do if he wasn't given explicit directions. He'd joined the Legion of the Dead to combat his birthright, but he'd been separated from the others and probably wasn't even thought about the entire time they fought the blight without him.

Three more were added to their ranks now, the princess, another witcher, and a werewolf who could shift on command. What could he do? Well, a great deal, but that was beside the point. Alucard didn't even have a dragon scale while everyone else had walked away from the dragon with one in their pocket. Sulking in the sky, Alucard paid little mind to whatever was happening elsewhere. They could figure out how to bring the wall down on their own he wanted no part of this anymore.

[afshinxeldar]

closed starter for @freydis-freydat location: lostlands note: death by snu snu

There were people Afshin cared for and then there were others that were right below that status that he would've considered people he cared about if they lived or died. He wouldn't have been able to move past it if Aytac or Torsten or Ormir were gone. But then there were people like Freydis. He never really spoke it much, but he did care about her well-being. Their relationship was for sure a shaky one, but the fact of the matter was that Afshin definitely liked her presence. Nobody else spoke to him as bluntly as she did. Well, other than Ormir, but that was different. Ormir was father-shaped. Freydis was 'Step on me'-shaped. Not that he would ask her to do so. She'd probably want something in return and he just couldn't put himself in that kind of position. Who knew what she would want from him if he asked her of that. Maybe he'd have to re-evaluate that at a later date though once he found out she was in good shape. Hands folded behind his back, he observed her. "I hope you didn't need anyone to carry you over any puddles."

[alrikhart]

@vuldak-juneau location: Lostlands (we at the prismatic wall baby) notes: kiss kiss lets throw rocks

Alessia was back and she was safe, and she'd returned changed in some way. Stronger, but not just physically. Like whatever had been iron about her was beaten down into steel. She claimed to be more herself than before, but that did not change that Alrik did not know how to broach what she'd been through, nor did he know if he even should. The half-siblings were more like twins than not, ones who'd endured everything together, everything but this.

This wall was... Something. More magic that Alrik did not understand. For all that he did not know, the more that this world opened itself to him, the more clear things became. Clear as mud, so to speak. The root of it was there was a great deal of truth to the dangers of magic, and that if there were people to blame for breaking the world, then it had to be the people who could capture a nation in a bubble. The effects of the barrier were obvious enough, so Alrik didn't see the harm in chucking rocks at it. The prismatic field burned into the ground, going who-knew-how-deep, and the trees that it intercepted had been severed cleanly in two. Charred to nothing where the barrier landed.

"Can I be vulnerable with you for a moment?" this wasn't about her smell but that was another topic in itself. Alrik picked up a rock and heaved it toward the prismatic wall, watching it sizzle and combust upon impact as it disintegrated.

[phyrofwild]

Location: The Lostlands.

Time: Late Afternoon.

Closed: @alrikhart.

Phyr had already felt the other's presence long before he'd made himself known to him, and it couldn't be any other way since everything that surrounded them was part of the Wild which lived in all creatures and that he could touch into as a Genasi. "Isn't it beautiful?" He looked over at the wastelands, mostly untouched by mortal hands due to their essence, empty of what some would call society, and at the same time full of life. The ever-expanding green had not left this place since the moment it'd been created, so he still could feel its will even if people couldn't.

Although the barrier could be seen in the horizon, Zephy could not be bothered. "I might have a job for you... If you're willing risk, that is..." A short smile established itself on the Dúnedain's lips, playful in nature but innocent at the same time. "I want to know if you hear of any news in regards to this group's leadership going forward... Who is in command and who is playing the fool who thinks they are in command. I heard the Princess made quite a good impression in her little adventure..." It was almost too funny when he thought about how one's power rising within the group could affect the others so much.

[steadythora]

who?: @heroic-ignus where?: the current refugee frozen dirt patch when?: after all the king's road stuff

There'd been a lot she had to face down during their last mission, and she faced every challenge without hesitation. Minus those seconds she allowed that wench to alter her thoughts, Thora got everything she hoped out of her travels. Now, her grief surrounding her parents' deaths was more of a dull ache, the bulk of her emotions worked out through her slaughter of goblins, darkspawn, and the few hits she got in on Lilith. Still, there was a debt to be paid. Though Thora had lost much, she'd never lose her honor. TEK was someone she knew would understand her point of view. "I know you might not deem it necessary, but I do need to thank you. They said it was you who lifted the rubble from me when the mine collapsed," Thora said, still a bit surprised by that fact considering she thought she saw a much larger shadow than his. Then again, she did hit her head pretty hard. "So thanks. For that and..." As Thora trailed off, her hand curled into a fist. Lilith had targeted them both outright, but it was only her mind that got afflicted during the fight. "Vicoya still wasn't sure what her visions meant, but I'm guessing the greedy bitch stole every blade she wielded, including the one you plundered. She might've added mine to her collection if not for you so I owe you twice over."

[heroic-ignus]

Location: The Lostlands.

Time: Afternoon.

Closed: @riandur.

There were more important things to think about other than whatever happened back at the strange halls filled with awful smells and weird ladies, however, one thing was certain, Alder could not confirm that those who were with him did not see the demonic wolf in which he'd transformed, and even though it was usually subtle, he wanted to make sure his identity was safe for the time being.

The man took a seat, noticing the other figure across from him. "Mind if an old man sits here?" He asked, although he'd already done that before an answer was given. "I have to admit I was impressed with how you handled the crossbow back there." He offered the other a smile tainted in curiosity. "How did you learn how to shoot it? Bows and the like have never been easy to me."

[adrianvoll]

starter for @suyinskiss.

where: lostlands

when: barrier is still up

note: :ahh:

Being displaced, forced to start anew was just one massive hiccup in the landslide of other problems. The fact they were practically being hunted by the Aetheron kingdom was another, more pressing, issue but Adrian tried not to let it all rattle him so completely - he was not a fighter nor warrior like the Iskaran society preened most men to be, his gift of smithwork had been inherited from his mother and it was of little to no use here. Idle hands warranted him to be anxious, this natural level which never did completely settle but distractions had often been key.

He'd noticed this woman, attempting to adhere to this vision of glamour and strength, refusing to let silken fabrics or polished shoes sink too deeply into the grass and muck as though it was poison.

"I still haven't gotten used to all of this myself," Adrian offered a warm smile; though they were all worse for wear, the majority of the troupe had tried to rise above it all together despite what dared try to separate them. Those who had followed the Iskaran King were still out but Adrian held to the belief that they would all return with those they had lost at Nornwatch Keep in tow.

Adrian nodded to the barrier where many still stood, silently toiling away at any plan or method to dismantle it. "But at least it's almost over."

[ormir]

With: @princessxaytac Where: The Lostlands, at the edge of the barrier Notes: zombie? sorry. zombie? sorry.

Iskaldrik’s princess died in the mountains. What returned in her stead was the very image of Hel. After two months’ gestation in the broodmother’s womb, she’d sliced her own way out of it, twisted with change, stricken with blight, and short a gamey eye. The rumor mill had ground speculation of her transformation into a powder so fine it spread through the air, Ormir was almost expecting a draugr to stumble back into camp in her place. Oddly, when the Huscarl saw her now, he was reminded of how a serpent glistened, lithe and lethal, after a fresh shed. She almost glowed with the constricting weight of her old life behind her. He only hoped her fealty and memory remained, that some part of her had room to hold Orhan’s legacy away from the rotting touch of time.

A pang of empathy for her addled the equal parts horror and admiration he held in her presence. Aytaç would never rule. The Hand knew that his favoriting her, mentoring her was likely an exercise in futility from the start, but her pact with the Legion had sealed it. What a waste. The loss of her as Iskaldrik’s future was another log tossed on the raging fire he tended. Ormir held himself at a distance to keep from searching her eye for the ghost of the girl he’d raised. She was no longer there. Ormir couldn’t hold the intensity of the Legionnaire’s gaze for long without shivering under it. “It’s an odd thing,” He said, hearing the unsteadiness in his voice. “To be grieving the dead even as they stand in front of you.”

[witchertorsten]

@freydis-freydat location: The Lostlands notes: it's hot in the lostlands for some reason, why would he wear a shirt.

The loss of the limb did not change the warrior's resolve. The Kingsguard still drew breath; the woman who'd cut him down should have seen the task through to completion. He'd wielded a sword in either hand for most of his life, that he was down to one would not stop Torsten from fighting. Torsten would return to Iskaldrik with an army, kill the Aetherians, and liberate the High King.

"Welcome back, Jarl Freydis," Torsten commented as he set the sword aside and gave the other his full attention. She was different from before, a scent permeated the air between them that brought the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. Whispers had already permeated the tale of those who'd returned, the madness of the women of the mines was one that Torsten took with a grain of salt. People did what they needed to do to survive, and that even six came to return after two long months was a testament to their strength and Iskaran fortitude. Torsten thought nothing of the elvhen who returned.

"You've changed." He remarked, deducing passively from his years of arcana study that in her travels across places of inevitably thin veils, something had left an impression upon her. Something was holding on. In terms of change, clearly, Torsten could hardly comment. And yet, the handprint that marked his chest echoed something that he could barely hope to understand. The giant aimed to kill him, instead Torsten landed among those he was prepared to die trying to protect.

[prcspero]

closed starter for @lotharx location: lostlands note: :angrytiddies:

Tired was the word he would use for how he felt right now after everything that had transpired. Prospero had never really been through a fight quite like that one before, but he had to say that facing down a dragon and speaking with some deities was not on his bucket list. Maybe he should have put those things on there though. That seemed to be the least of their concerns now. He should've been with Alrik and Alessia right now. Instead, he was here looking at this barrier. This wasn't magic he had ever seen himself, but he'd read about it. Seven layers of elemental and spiritual magic formed this prismatic barrier surrounding Iskaldrik. It would take precise movements to even make a dent in it. And he may have been old, but this was not something that one person could do alone.

Nevertheless, he had been on his way back from observing it only to run into his future date. He still wasn't sure if they were actually going to go on that date or if it had been a joke, but he'd keep pretending that it was the former. There was a question lingering in his mind though. "And here I thought you were a normal, stoic soldier with an ax. Little did I know you were sipping colossus juice."

[witchernjal]

closed starter for @freydis-freydat

location: lostlands note: obligatory death by snu snu tag

To be honest, he hadn't known what to expect of the missing women. They had been gone for such a long time that he was convinced they were never going to come back. If they did, it was going to be a damn miracle. Njal guessed he should have started believing in miracles. When he had awoken from his own expedition, he had been surprised to know that all of the women that had been taken were back with them in the Lostlands. There was one he hoped to see much more than the other. As much as he didn't know if they would classify each other as friend's, he had been interested in knowing if Jarl Freydis had made it back safely. That had been his first stop, even before seeing Torsten. Maybe that was sign enough that there was a semblance of care there. Not that Njal would ever admit to as much aloud.

As he came upon her, he let out a sigh and held his arms outwards. Definitely not for a hug because he was sure neither of them were those kinds of people. "Any fun, violent stories to share?"