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soleilsx · 3 years

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The Reaping was always a weird day for Soleil. She was required to be at the square bright and early before most of the rest of the district, prepped and looking nice for the cameras. And she did so, wearing a light sundress with her hair delicately curled and nude heels strapped onto her feet. If anything, it was an excuse to get dressed up in this drab district she called home.

It also served as the most bizarre trigger she could imagine. Every year when she watched the District Three escort saunter between the bowls, pick names out, read them aloud, Soleil was instantly transported back to the year she was seventeen years old. Back then, she’d worn a shabby muslin sheath dress, passed down from an older cousin who had bullied her for years about how scrawny she was. Her bony knees had knocked together as her name was called, and she emerged from the crowd on the verge of tears with her hair limp and drab, her skin pale and lifeless. Her district partner could not have been older than thirteen or fourteen, and though his coloring was darker there had still existed that pervasive paleness and ashiness to his complexion that seemed to infect everyone in the factory district.

Today was entirely different. Soleil was eight years older, her figure had filled out (though she was still too skinny for her family’s standards), her skin had gained color, her hair was now shiny and bouncy. She sat now with the historic lineup of victors from District Three. And there was truly no way that she was “supposed” to be feeling right now.

Perhaps she could have followed the example of Haymitch from Twelve. The year he’d gotten so drunk he’d plummeted off the stage was something Soleil liked to remember fondly; maybe if she got drunk enough one of these years then she could sit through the Reaping without that awful nausea curling around her internal organs. In the Capitol they regularly drank mimosas and Bloody Marys before lunch time, anyway.

But alas, this year she was seated up at the front of the district in a dead soberness, nursing a headache from the lack of sleep from the night before.

The mayor was a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper black hair that reached the middle of her back, and who wore a crisp blue collared dress. Her own two children were up for reaping, Soleil understood, and that showed in her own physicality: the dark circles under her eyes, the worry lines dug across her face, the constant anxious itching. The other two on stage beside the escort were Beetee and Wiress, who sat no differently than they had been since Soleil was a child.

For Beetee Latier, it seemed like the stress had eaten itself away to the point where he sat next to her incredibly stoically, not ever responding to the kids who were chosen each year. Wiress would mutter to herself, self-soothe by twiddling with her hair or thumbs, and sometimes hold Soleil and Beetee’s hands for comfort. Their son had been lost in the Games several years ago, and the day felt like a grim anniversary for them. Soleil would sit politely, though each year it felt more and more awkward.

She was, after all, responsible for bringing these kids home. And so far, every single year, she’d failed.

So when the square filled with children once again, as it always did, Soleil held her head low. There also held that additional stressor of her remaining siblings within the proper age brackets. With the elimination of tesserae this year, their odds of being reaped were once again just as good as everyone’s around them. There was no special consideration for the siblings of a victor. Nothing to differentiate the accomplishment their older sister had achieved from those who desperately needed those additional raffle tickets in exchange for grain and oil.

Soleil had learned several years ago that it was best not to search for their faces in the crowd. It was reassuring that her brothers, Cosmo and Tellus, had now reached their twenties and were no longer in the line of fire from the Capitol, but with Luna and Stella at ages fifteen and eighteen it still very much weighed on her conscience. She could do nothing to protect them, much as she had hardly done anything for the tributes of the past eight years.

That enduring guilt continued as the teenagers of the District finished filing in and the escort took the stage. It was the same drivel every year about how excited they should all be about the opportunity to get to go to the Capitol, how lucky they were to have this chance.

Soleil had to keep herself from rolling her eyes, remembering that she was on camera. She had heard whispers of what might happen when she returned to the Capitol this year, how she might want to talk to Hemingway from Eight about really getting involved in changing all this. And that was was kept her hanging on as they played that same, tired video about war, terrible war, and the districts paying penance for their treachery.

It was bullshit. Everyone knew that, and nobody could say it. Because nobody was safe from the Capitol. Especially not this year.

And when the first name was pulled from the Reaping bowl, when she heard a name that was familiar to her, that became all the more clear.

Soleil felt another onslaught of guilt when she realized she had been relieved at the absence of Luna and Stella from the lips of the District Three escort. Her own family was safe. Stella had now aged out of the Games. The Maguires were now nearly in the clear.

The same could not be said for the Latiers.

#thqtask #76 #reaping

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terrorhqs · 4 years

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AN INTERACTIVE PLOT DROP

When the first whispers being, the night is still young. A garden path in bloom and promise, rather than a scaffolding ready to be built — it allows hope to transpire. Allows bravery, and courage, and curiosity strong enough to defy the ice.

It is in this spirit that people gather in THE DOCTOR’s precarious kingdom, the Sick Bay. Just a handful, a small circle in the dark. It had all started with THE DOE-HEARTED’S insistence that no creature would wound others without being wounded itself. That they must track down whatever hunts them and reach out to it. There is no other way to truly find out where it comes from, or what name it bears. No other way to find out what it wants from them. Because, and this question is mirrored by others, if it wanted them gone, why did it freeze the ocean?

The Doctor had picked up on this, leveraged with the prospect of knowledge the Western world might never glean again. A similar promise lured THE SUNFLOWER. Whether in kindness, revolt, or scientific interest, the fledgling plan begins to take root. Now, they have met to lay down its groundwork. THE ARCANE, brought on by their friend Dr. Bhavsar, has decided to lead part of the foregoing discussion.

It is less of a coup, and more of a rescue operation. Or so they want to believe, even as they hush and murmur among themselves with heads bowed together, with hands wrung at their sides. The telltale posture of saints — yet also of conspirators. History will judge the truth of it in a matter of days rather than decades. The Silent One can make either fools or martyrs out of them. Yet failure to track the creature can render them traitors or saboteurs to the already shaken passengers.

What is to be done? How do they find the creature and try to establish contact? Forgiveness? It is less of a question, and more of a prayer under the lamplight—a thing you ask in the night, but from the night as well. Soon, a fifth voice answers. Then another. The quiet becomes querulous. There are more people here: but who?

Lovely members !! This weekend we bring you a plot drop whose blueprint was created by the fantastic, phenomenal, Sexy crew of Lia, Kat & Trixie !! They proposed it to us and we knew we had to whip it into a full-formed event.

This being said, please message the main if you want your muse to join the dooming courageous discussions! They will take place inside the Sick Bay on the 27th of July, in game time. Whether the character you sign up for this will actually proceed to venture over the frozen ocean in hunting down the Silent One is up to you ( someone else can persuade them against it, or maybe they just realize they have brains. hmmm ? a lot can happen ).

For the purpose of keeping the circle small, we would like to cap the muses you can sign up at 1 muse per player.

#thqevent #thqtask #thqadmin

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thespicn · 4 years

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the celeste troupe of entertainers : est. in paris, 1830s.

— cedric, the troupe’s leader & playwright, networker extraordinaire ;

— lucille, an acrobat, dancer & escort doubling as a thief ;

— essi, a stage artist & costume maker doubling as an underground forger ;

— ezen, a firework designer & fire-breather doubling as an arsonist ;

— thien, an all-around musician doubling as a fighter & sharpshooter ;

— yelena, the troupe’s treasurer & illusionst doubling as an embezzler ;

#2nd part coming ur way !! click for enlarging the pics ofc #also small tidbit the 3rd word on the graphs is what they mean/meant to bast #though likely nothing makes sense as i made this when i was RILED by sickness #thqtask #do i tag this lol #* ╰ [ 𝙝𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙮. ] ⏤ about.#* ╰ [ 𝙝𝙮𝙢𝙣𝙖𝙡. ] ⏤ musings.#* ╰ [ 𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚. ] ⏤ ⁽ troupe. ⁾

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dondiegocortez · 4 years

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Son of a whore. Immigrant. Racketeer. Sudaca. Thief. Crook. You’ve been knighted with these titles, judged a malcontent by virtue of your heritage, your roots, your mother tongue, your luck of the draw. You grew up looking contempt in the eye, so you know it when you see it, and here, in the officer’s mess, you see it in spades. The blue-bloods gather their furs and hold them close ’round their necks to stave off the cold, or maybe the fear. They cling to the lap of luxury like they cling to their antiquated notion of hierarchy, and you watch them turn up their noses as they lament the looming dangers of welcoming strangers—outsiders—into their fold. You share their wealth, but not their bloodlines, and certainly not their fear-bred entitlement. They bleat like sheep without a shepherd, so frightened by the darkness ahead that they fail to take note of the wolf that prowls among them already: you. None of the Agathe survivors, you suspect, are half as likely to put a match to the Promethean as you are. And yet… The guests turn a blind eye to your ill will—not on account of your person, but your purse. New money you may be, but coin calls to coin, and the aristocrats aboard have acquitted you of malice before the trial’s even begun. Ah, the spoils of classism. They think you a sheep—a black sheep, but a sheep nonetheless. They think you one of their own, heedless to what big teeth you have (all the better to eat them with).

Your pursestrings are loose, but your code of honor among thieves is not. You can take the man out of the whorehouse, surely, but never can you take the whorehouse out of the man. You have one saving grace, and it is this: your devotion to the outcasts. What are the Agathe survivors, really, if not outcasts? Immigrants on an Admiralty-christened ship. Refugees deemed madmen. Tragic, downtrodden beasts who know now that survival tastes the same as blood in your mouth, acrid and sour. They’re kin to you, outsiders of the same ilk cut from different cloth. You consider telling your audience to fuck off in express detail, damn their snobbery, but you’re an empresario through and through, and there’s little room for folly or feeling where business is concerned. You’re here to secure a trade route to the Far East, and your objective must remain paramount. Your word carries some weight among these people, so you must think carefully about what you say next. Your notorious repute precedes you, but so, too, does your impressive fortune, and among the upper crusts, the latter accrues more merit than the former. What you say next could be taken to heart, you think. What you say next could be meaningful. You stand at the helm of fate’s piano, and you, maestro, must choose carefully which keys to stroke.

You weigh the risks and rewards: DO YOU RILE THEM UP?

Should your labors bear fruit, the Agathe survivors will be banished from the Promethean, and so, too, will THE AMBASSADOR—and the threat he poses to you and your voyage. You don’t mind getting your hands dirty, but if there’s a way to depose l’ambassadeur without slitting his throat in the dead of the night... Well, you won’t object.

A plague of boredom is catching like wildfire aboard the Promethean, and if there’s anything in this world worthy of your hate, it’s doldrum. Inciting a quarrel between the Promethean’s guests and the Agathe survivors might bear the fruit of an exciting diversion.

Reinforcing the protests of the Promethean’s nobles could catalyze dissent among the ship’s passengers, which would likely delay the expedition and put a kink in your plans to outwit the Queen and negotiate trade with the Far East.

Your moral compass hasn’t worked in a long, long while, and though lawlessness becomes you, you’re not altogether without principle. Some things are sacred even to you, heretic. Your black heart has always bled for the outcasts—the immigrants, the vagrants, the criminals, the lepers, the down-on-their-luck—and you don’t think orchestrating the eviction of a homeless people will sit well in your gut. You’re unacquainted with guilt, and you want to keep it that way. It’s hard enough to sleep on this godforsaken ship without the complication of remorse in your belly, fitful and sleepless. You need your beauty rest, after all.

If the Agathe survivors remain aboard the Promethean and learn of the role you played in the guests’ bid to exile them, there will be bad blood aplenty. You don’t need any more enemies on this ship, and you could certainly use a few more allies. What’s more? There could be potential allies among the Agathe survivors, lucrative resources to be tapped and wielded to your advantage. Who knows what kind of folk walk among them? Translators, perhaps, to help facilitate relations between you and leaders of the Far East. Mutineers, perhaps, to help you sate your greed—no matter the costs. Wolves, perhaps, to help you hunt the sheep aboard. Sheep, perhaps, to quench your hunger. There could be many a friend or many a foe among this crew, but you’ll never find out if you oust them all. One of these people could be your key to fortune.

The Promethean could stand a little je ne sais quois. How frightfully boring this lot of well-bred Englishmen can be, and how marvelously electric you know the French to be! You’ve spent many years in Paris, and you know with some surety that the French are connoisseurs of le tête à tête and le budoire. If good conversation doesn’t lie ahead, a good fuck surely does. You would be remiss to encourage the eviction of the Agathe survivors and forfeit the opportunity to break bread with them—and break beds with them, if the occasion calls for it.

It’s decided, then, laid out for you like the blueprints of a ship: riling up the guests is a venture that would benefit you little, likely, and cost you much.

It’s decided, then: for profit, for alliance, for resources, for carnal pursuits, for excitement, for honor among thieves, you opt not to stir the pot.

#thqtask #slur tw #plot twist: diego DOESN'T dick over team agathe (yet)#plot consistency: he does it for $$$ and sex

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ravenwicked · 4 years

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e : devon adventure / l : sick bay / p : @arcticdoctor

they mistake it for a knife, nearly cutting open their foot as they chase after the rat that they saw, going deeper into the ship that they normally would dare. it’s only when they pick it up, thumb running gently over its sides, that they realise the texture isn’t right, too natural to be forged metal.

as they pass a latern they see it and at first, think of it as bone, but the jagged edge that has already cut open the skin of one hand is too worn, too sharp. the realisation comes and they go to fit it into their own mouth before realising that some of the red that stains it is dry, not their own.

their foot hesitates on the ladderway to the deck, uncertain whether to just tuck the rooth into their own pocket, when they remember jonathan. he was a nice one, pulled splinters and dealt with rope burn with ease and a kind spirit. and their hand was hurt and bastien might be there as well.

the choice was made! they smiled as they took their foot off the ladder and instead pushed their way into the sick bay, poking the hand holding the tooth in through first. ‘ doc? i got something for ya! ‘

#e ::: the silent one #jon ::: 001 #spark ::: start #int ::: jonathan #inv ::: doctor #thqtask

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anivyforest · 3 years

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THE TRIBUTE PARADE || IVY

All that glitters may not be gold but little is as beautiful or magical as the forest at night. The fireflies dance and shadows play on your imagination... Anything become possible. This year the trees have morphed into wood nymphs ready to entice and enchant you into a world few see, into their world...

#Ellery #76: tribute parade #thqtask

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arianellafromone · 3 years

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THE REAPING || EMERALD ROSSEAU

“There was once a great winged horse,” Emerald started softly as a smile played on her lips as she recalled the story she had read in one of the many books lining the shelves of the library. “He was a magical creature you see as he was born from immortal blood and possessed great gifts. For his footsteps created the streams, rivers, and lakes that dot the globe,” she continued as her memory soared down a path as familiar as the one that lead to the field she let her horse graze in late at night when she went riding.

“For many years the winged horse roamed the lands wild and free,” not too much unlike a certain someone else she knew. Emerald had to imagine that it was tempting to have so much freedom. You could go anywhere, do anything, and your life would be your own. There would be no one trying to saddle you with expectations and you could never disappoint someone if there were not expectations resting on your shoulders. Ask Atlas, the weight of such things could be crushing.

She paused a moment as her fingers danced across the pure white figurine as she tapped it across the smooth marble. The noise almost sounded like the clinking of hooves on the cobblestone...

“You see, freedom is a double edged sword,” Emerald continued the story even as the morning doves’ song faded with the warmth of the glowing sunlight dancing across the green grass. “There is only so much one person, or horse, can do alone. We accomplish great things alone but our potential is endless when coupled with the strength of others. So, Bellerophon convinced Pegasus to aid him in his fight against the chimera.”

She set the tiny figurine down and looked a long moment at the tiny shadow it cast. Funny how it seemed larger when she had been a child and her dreams had been full of dreams of riding on a winged horse.

“Naturally, the pair were victorious!” She pointed out with vigor as it lead perfectly into the next part of the tale. “Like most things in life, one battle lead into another and another. Bellerophon and Pegasus were able to conquer many foes in their joined strength. “And when his rider dead, Pegasus started a new journey carrying the lightning bolts for the great king of the Gods, Zeus. Eventually he was so great he was rewarded with the gift of becoming a constellation in the sky and the ability to watch over the Earth forevermore.”

“As he was exalted to the heavens it is said a single white feather fell to the Earth,” Emerald added softly as she placed a single white feather on the smooth marble of the headstone.

It seemed silly to be there telling a fairytale to no one in particular but it calmed her soul and eased her mind. A tiny part of her wanted to believe that it was what he would have done had he still been there. It was what father’s did after all, right? They scared their daughter’s boyfriends, told them they were beautiful, and told them stories on days they wanted to give up.

“I am going to keep this though,” Emerald said softly as she picked up the tiny white horse and gently placed it into the right pocket of her own white dress. It would be her own little memento that life wasn’t a journey to take by yourself. A life of service could still lead to grand adventures and a place in the heavens. Pegasus had Bellerophon and his golden saddle gifted by Athena.

“It’s not all bad,” she admitted as she stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress and tugged at her hair. As expected, her hair and makeup were flawless. Emerald Rosseau was the picture perfect portrait a young Victor should be. “Mom and Sterling will be there. I’ll see Rory again...” Her heart was still at the prospect of seeing familiar faces she had missed so much since leaving. “Maybe I’ll get to see my Avox friend again and we can have another adventure...”

Emerald sighed knowing it was nearing the time of the Reaping. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay,” she assured the ghost of her long dead father she had never knew outside her own imagination and stories others had told her. “Even Pegasus had to wander the world a bit before he found his path in life.”

“Anyhow,” Emerald started unable to bring herself to say goodbye. What was so hard about goodbyes? “Talk to you later,” she settled on before turning to walk away.

Emerald knew what was waiting for her out there. She would stand in line behind Cashmere like she had the past few years and smile. Her fellow Victor would fuss over her even though she had taken care to make sure she was presentable this year unlike last year. Only this year Esme would stand behind her bringing up the end of the procession of Victors. It was odd not to be the last anyhow.

This was a new year and this year would be different Emerald told herself. This year she was going to start making a difference.

#emerald #76: the reaping #thqtask

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paintedsins · 4 years

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YOU CHOOSE TO BE A WOUND

heretics look best in the pyres of their own undoing; hellfire the only thing that wants to consume you. the only thing that can still stomach you.

part one.

#thqtask #task.#task 003.#[ will not b discussing how i screamed over trying 2 get this looking the way i had it in my head for 4 too long ]#[ and STILL i am not quite PLeased with it >:( ]#[ angy. ]#[ pl0x ignore how some bits r lq and how nothing is timed properly bc originally it WAS but tumblr's gif limit hates me sO ]#[ kat if u r reading... purple flowers theme is 4 u ]

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intrepidim · 4 years

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𝘿𝙄𝙎𝙎𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙄𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙆𝙎.

At a late night cap, a senior officer expresses disapproval with the Captain. Though this is not ( yet ) a battlefield, such decision still requires a sharpshooter’s speed. Perhaps Dowling is not the man to steer you through this:

in which case, he should be honorably deposed.

▷▷▷

𝘿𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩, 𝙤𝙧 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙚𝙟𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙞𝙩 ?

▷▷▷

You are born for this. A small inhale is all it takes — a chiseling on the surface of the air, a shifting of the tension. Redistribution of blame. Redistribution of corpses. You balance the room like a porcelain cup; like sugar cubes on the tongue, little veins of power. When you bite into it, it gives seamlessly under your teeth, as gullible & ripe as a lover’s neck. ❛ Gentlemen.❜

( hardly, but: you press on ).

❛ Surely we’re not here to discuss the credit to a man’s good name. Whatever happened in his past... let bygones be bygones, no? We all have history - oh, and how! Our past follies; whether they’re mistakes of youth, of zeal... or simply those that come with too great a burden. We earned our right to the skeletons in our closet; to the bodies that made us the men we are today.❜

( an eyebrow raises, a survey of the land. It is crisscrossed by so many lines, so many spirals and arrows - genealogies & curses, mass graves, heirlooms, forsworn oaths. Blood money, blood moons, blood children - each of them as clearly outlined as onto a map. You know them all. What’s more: they know you know. You stay the course. )

❛ But: suppose the past is not a buried thing. Suppose it rears its head, much like this creature they’re going on about. What happens then? I trust your own past is fresh enough in your minds - how some mistakes can harm, as well as haunt. How they never go away at all, but simply lie, dormant. A parasite of character. That, after me, is all you have to know on the Dowling matter. ❜

▷▷▷

𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚. 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚. 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚.

#why did i spend any time at all on this #thqtask #* ╰ [ verdigris. ] ⏤ about.#* ╰ [ larking. ] ⏤ musings.

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adinfinita · 4 years

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O CAPTAIN. it is for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning — power is a balancing act, a fibonacci ladder, a serpent eating its own tail at the genesis of the world and its last judgement. it is art and stratatgem and symphony and above all, the lifeblood that beats ceaselessly at the very abominable core when all else has been stripped bare. honour? dignity? loyalty. good men have died for less, and history is a tempest with a selective memory, playing favourites in past tense. you look your captain in the eyes, the song of muses on your lips and ancient hunger plundered raw from somewhere beyond soul and animus wetting tongue. SAIL ON. THE VOYAGE CANNOT FAIL.

#THE STATE OF HUBRIS IS NEVER BY DEFINITION GODLESS. IT IS A CONSUMMATION: A DEVOURING OF GOD. / 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓.#NO ONE MADE ME. I MADE ME. / 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒.#thqtask #noo dont turn the ship back your so sexy aha

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ilvulcanico · 4 years

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DEVON PATROL.

you are prepared to leave for a patrol with THE IDOL when you watch the sun fall, darkness cloaking the sky. a moment becomes hours, and there’s nothing in sight --- no party, not even the promethean. when you feel closest to madness, THE IDOL is before you, asking you if you are ready. it has been only minutes, but you have felt hours pass through you.

>>DO YOU TELL THEM WHAT YOU JUST EXPERIENCED, OR DO YOU STAY SILENT?

you watched darkness approach, you watched it fall on you, you watched as a moment shifted into endlessness, nothingness, a stretched out parody of divinity around you. ( for thus says the one who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is holy... ) there is nothing but this endless moment, nothing in this endless moment, but you are part of it. you have always been part of it. you will never be anywhere else, anything else. endless, endless. overwhelming in the loneliness of all the worlds in all of space, and you, knowing you will be there as they rise and fall and rise and fall. hours, years, galactic lifetimes --- time holds no meaning for you here.

even when a voice reaches you, pulling you back, you feel the thick web of the darkness of everything clinging to you, begging you to stay. where will you go? you cannot escape the thinning bounds of time. but now, now, you are with a patrol. your name is teodoro. you are with a patrol, and the sun is near to setting. you are preparing to leave. your name is teodoro, and you are from the french ship the agathe. most of your crew is dead. you are not. you are with a patrol. your name is teodoro. on and on, you repeat these facts.

you are looking in the face of your golden savior, light fading around his features, and you want to weep. you want to tear at him. you want him to bear witness to the knowledge you carry, to feel even an ounce of what you have seen. would you have saved us, you want to ask him. if you knew what we have brought to you? you would damn him if you could, if it meant you did not have to suffer alone.

>>STAY SILENT.

you do not say anything. your hands shake, but that is not new, not anymore. they shake when you are angry, when you are frightened, and how often those two things align these days. you nod at the sergeant, the only acknowledgement of his words. and you keep count of your steps as you walk, knowing you cannot trust seconds any longer.

mentioned: @sergeantfcx

#thqtask #on this episode of teo dissociates for a while #maybe the real monster was trauma

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sergeantfcx · 4 years

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a remembered conversation, a shape that has so quickly become beloved to your eyes, a salve to the wounds you possess that do not seem to ever heal, is not enough to render you brave enough to open the door to belief. you know what will happen, the minute you touch your hand to the lock, for you have learned to live, to sleep, to navigate the space that dreams had once occupied with the sound of the wolf, the carrion bird, the beast that you refuse to give name to, continually scratching, continually begging for entrance. you refuse to sacrifice what peace you’ve scrabbled together with your bloody hands, to forsake the faith you still possess in the absolute cruelty the men are capable of--and so you turn away, you walk back up the long stretch of desolate beach, you formulate a lie in your mind as easily as you draw breath.

#thqtask

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terrorhqs · 4 years

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THE AFTERMATH OF MANMADE TRAGEDIES.

Good Sunday beautiful members !! Here are the results for the tasks each of you completed. Please let us know if you want additional details about what is happening to your characters, in case you need more information. For the sake of easy readability and creative liberty, we did not include many details in these consequences, but you can ask the admins to tell you more in private.

THE JUDAS

>>> For staunchly defending your innocence instead of turning the other cheek, you earn the sympathy and admiration of THE CAPTAIN, THE PURSER, THE DOE-HEARTED, and THE CHAPLAIN and your fellow survivors. however, you have alienated yourself from the common seamen and have attracted the attention of THE CHRONICLER in your outburst.

>>> You can now ask for favors from THE CAPTAIN, THE PURSER, THE DOE-HEARTED, and THE CHAPLAIN. you are more susceptible to THE CHRONICLER’s machinations.

THE SUNFLOWER

>>> For righting THE DOCTOR’s knowledge of the mysterious flowers, you gain his respect, though fear only continues to heighten onboard the Promethean at the only other alternative you have left them - the unknown, the nightmare come true waiting for them.

>>> Tensions rise to a boil as you null the last hope of a scientific explanation. However, you gain the pride of THE JUDAS for speaking the truth, despite how THE STOWAWAY throws glares your way.

THE SHADOW

>>> The ring hums in your possession, vibrating as if it senses a new owner. You pocket it and it does not leave your side. that evening, your sleep is fitful—you dream of ghosts who haunt the seascape—some of them are familiar. some of them are not.

>>> On your way to an errand on the upper deck, you see THE RAVEN staring wide-eyed at your pocket. Confused, you look down - to realize the ring glows with steady light, visible, but only just. You realize this means that, for the first time, you cannot hide what you stole.

THE PURSER

>>> For choosing to confide in THE CHAPLAIN, your feelings of dread ease during daytime. For a while, you almost dare entertain the hope that this is working. But then an insidious thought burrows into your mind: what if the Chaplain will use your confessions against you?

>>> You feel your stable nature disintegrate. Even as your rational side understands that insomnia can cause paranoia, that you’ve seen it before in starving men, a more powerful feeling urges you on.

THE EMPRESARIO

>>> For trying to quell the protest in the officer’s mess, you gather the attention of both the skeptical faction, who would benefit from a mutiny of sorts, and the faction that accepts the survivor’s account. This makes it exponentially harder to carry on with your plans.

>>> You are tasked directly by the superiors of the crew with overseeing any words of rebellion, despite being a guest. You do not mistake it for an honor; this is a direct leash to keep your plans in check, and thus either dim or stunt your influence as neutral party.

THE COMMANDER

>>> For choosing to tell your Captain the survivors were exaggerating at best, you become the leading figurehead for the skeptical faction onboard. Fellow skeptics understand that you are championing their cause. This garners you the respect of people like THE STOWAWAY, THE MARAUDER, THE EMPRESARIO, THE INTREPID.

>>> You now have more influence on the ship than before—though from an opposite direction. You lose the ear of the ship’s trifecta: CAPTAIN, VETERAN, PURSER. You lose the faith of the Agathe survivors, including some of them you’ve known before.

THE CHAPLAIN

>>> For nipping the sailors’ suspicions in the bud, you draw the hostility of THE INTREPID, who saw your apparent gullible nature as fertile ground for an alliance. You cannot understand how rampant fear would serve their cause, but you are inclined to think the worst.

>>> You hear that they are trying to find out more about your past. Above all, they have been seen tailing THE EMPRESARIO with an underlining of promises and veiled threats in their wake. You are left counting your last options.

THE INTREPID

>>> For encouraging the prospect, you have successfully sown the seeds of discord among some of the senior officers. Your machinations do not go unnoticed by those who oppose them.

>>> You have earned the express approval of those who debate THE CAPTAIN’s command, and those who stand to benefit from doubting him: THE COMMANDER, THE LOVER, THE EMPRESARIO, and THE CHRONICLER, etc. You also earned the ire of those who are loyal to him: THE VETERAN, THE PURSER, etc.

THE DOE-HEARTED

>>> For agreeing to give them an in to your uncle, you have now earned the goodwill of THE INTREPID. You can now go to them for advice or information. This will increase proportionally to your ability to deliver a one on one meeting between them and the CAPTAIN.

>>> You can now ask favors from them, as well as from their immediate allies: THE LOVER, THE COMMANDER. However, if you do not deliver, you are at risk of finding yourself in an enmity instead.

THE VOLCANIC

>>> For choosing to remain silent about your ailments, you maintain what fragile standing you have with the crew of the Promethean, gritting your teeth to the chills that grip your neck and working through it.

>>> Time escapes you more and more, especially in the late hours of the evening - you are unable to sleep, and restlessness plagues you more than ever before. You may have survived Le Silencieux, but one could hardly call this living.

THE DEVOTED

>>> For taking the note to the Captain, you are delegated to keep an eye on everyone as they enter the common mess on even days, and as they enter the officer’s mess on the odd days.

>>> Your schedule is altered, but what’s far worse, the entirety of your behavior is forced to change. You are meant to be unobtrusive but determined, to keep an eye out for people’s palms - but how can this happen without unnerving them? It feels against everything you are.

THE APOSTATE

>>> For confessing your fear to the COMMANDER, you can rest assured knowing they are well informed of what lurks in promise. But if they choose to ignore your words, you can no longer save them.

>>> You see that the Commander still insists to paint the Agathe as scared, scarred prey. Weavers of tales. He pities your lot, but he does not respect it. You lose faith. You lose calm. You lose patience.

THE VETERAN

>>> For choosing to go look for the boatswain, you are the first to find their body. You are there just in time to see life flowing out of their face. It’s a physical sight: like smoke pipe, it pours out of their eyes and mouth. You’ve seen men die, but never like this.

>>> You incur severe emotional damage, and your composure cracks with each passing day. You can share what you witnessed, or you can keep it hidden. You do not know what would make it worse.

THE ROMANTIC

>>> For gifting the compass to THE JUDAS, you strike an affinity with them. You begin to spend more and more time with the Agathe crew, writing their account of what happened, hearing their stories out.

>>> Your fellow crew members cold-shoulder you. You no longer have a place at the common mess table, and on several nights you find your hammock cut with a knife, your belongings smeared with trash. You can only wonder how long it will be before someone tears you apart.

THE IDOL

>>> For ignoring whatever mirage you might have seen, you spare any further sparking of fear among your crew, though unease is not quick to let go of you. Your excuses are feeble, even to yourself - but they are enough to stave off any unwanted questions.

>>> You grow more and more wary of THE VOLCANIC, perhaps for how they sense the turmoil brewing within you. Your fellow crew can provide no comfort, and you develop a habit of looking over your shoulder one too many times that THE SCION and THE WILDCARD do not miss.

THE MARKED

>>> Your shot rings true and pierces James in the heart - his likeness dissipates without so much as a whisper - elsewhere you hear a faint roar, otherworldly. Not a thing wounded, but enraged.

>>> You have angered The Silent One, and you feel an impending sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. Somehow you know you’ve provoked something terrible. Unless you confide in another who is willing to believe you, you suffer this knowledge alone.

THE DOCTOR

>>> For speaking the truth of the unknown cause of death, a fear settles upon the ship, soft as snow, heavy as guilt. You know you will have to send the boatswain’s body home to their family without an explanation for their death, and that perhaps haunts you more than the mystery of their body.

>>> You are forced to perform your own examination when the next morning, several long claw marks adorn the side of your body, bleeding profusely and sending sharp pangs of pain with the slightest movement. Once again you are left without an explanation, your new wounds mocking you.

THE HARUSPEX

>>> For remaining silent, the voices increase. Their strength doubles like a river poorly dammed: they’re in your room, now, they’re on deck when you keep watch. They come from outside, not within: from the sea, the storm. They say warnings. Sometimes, they say worse things.

>>> You incur severe damage, and sleep and food begin to elude you. Your duties begin to be seen to less and less, but with everything going on, how can you draw even more attention to yourself?

THE CLAIRVOYANT

>>> For allowing yourself to be noticed, you invite the attention of believers and skeptics alike. Even if it is by your will, it cuts like a double-edged blade.

>>> The former mark you as an omen, bad luck, a message from The Silent One itself. Possessed by it. The skeptics believe you are fabricating your marks for attention, as a means to your own gain. Exploitative of tragedy.

THE WILDCARD

>>> For laying the explosives in hopes of wounding the beast, you are throw against the ice and incur significant physical damage. Though still able to walk, a wiser man would remain confined to bed, but you seem to take it as a price worth paying for knowing what’s out there.

>>> You have several bruised ribs, a gash on your face, and a dislocated shoulder. The shoulder is easily fixed by THE DOCTOR; the other wounds, however, do not seem to heal. Is it in your mind?

THE SCION

>>> For running back to the rest, you’ve successfully resisted The Silent One’s beckoning, a triumph, perhaps. But you feel it is not done with you yet.

>>> You are back beneath the ice, in your dreams. It calls again, draws you from slumber to climb to the upper deck. A deckhand finds you about to climb over the edge, unaware of your surrounding, a faint smile playing on your lips. When word gets out, you are relieved from your duties for three days until your superior deems you well enough to return.

THE AMULET

>>> For alerting the others that something in the Boatswain is still alive, you make sure you will be the first one asked to recount what happened, barring only perhaps THE VETERAN.

>>> The poor boy’s friends as well as curious strangers ask you if he truly was possessed in your grip. The tale spins out of control, and soon you hear a variance where it was your touch that put the devil in him - or drew it out. You don’t know what is worse.

THE LOVER

>>> For choosing to seek what lies restless in the dark, you become subject to a loss of time - THE COMMANDER finds you in the corner of your room hours later, cold to the touch and unblinking. You remember nothing but a flicker of a shadow that looks too much like the deceased boatswain. You remember it being only seconds.

>>> You are shaken from the ordeal, and opening your eyes leaves you vulnerable to more tricks of the night while closing them invites a darkness reminiscent of the shadows that now haunt you. Sleep evades you, and even the touch of your loved ones feels too much like ice.

THE CHRONICLER

>>> For sharing your ominous feeling about this place, you become a cornerstone for Promethean believers and the skeptics alike. A small, timely crowd abounds before your cabin door each day. From questioner, you become the questioned.

>>> The following people come to you with doubts of their own: THE STOWAWAY, THE CHAPLAIN, THE PURSER, THE THESPIAN. You can avoid some of their pressing for details, but you know you won’t be able to stave them off for long.

THE STOWAWAY

>>> For exposing the runes on THE CLAIRVOYANT’s skin, your credibility as a translator has increased. Additionally, in doing so, the Promethean’s fears over the unknown has simmered considerably, many onboard sighing in relief over a liar’s truth now told.

>>> THE CAPTAIN thanks you for your honesty, and THE VETERAN has warmed to you considerably. However, THE CLAIRVOYANT no longer meets your eyes and THE MARKED still looks at you with a retained level of doubt.

THE THESPIAN

>>>> For daring to sully THE COMMANDER’s name to THE CAPTAIN, you plant the first seeds of mistrust between the two, delicately imbalancing what camaraderie existed. Neither will soon forget this moment.

>>>> You have added a new divide onto the ship, ice cracking a clean line between the members of the Promethean. You now face a different terror: THE LOVER’s wrath. There is an unease when members of the Promethean look at you now, unsure of what else you know.

THE SOCIALITE

>>> In keeping silent, the survivor’s testimony hangs in the air as it has, untarnished. You are aware one word from you about the opium and it will ruin the credibility of the entire party. Yet if something is to taint their trustworthiness, it will not be your word.

>>> You now have a tentative allyship in THE THESPIAN—though you also now possess leverage over them too. You can ask them for a favor, or to supply you with any intel you might desire about both Promethean passengers or Agathe survivors.

THE SCARLET

>>> For choosing to risk THE VOLCANIC’s ire, you are now their ally in their upcoming plans. When the gun’s hideout is seen by the Promethean’s rigger, THE RAVEN, you are both called into the CAPTAIN’s quarters.

>>> You are now directly associated with THE VOLCANIC by the rest of the crew - you share the standing they will gain, should matters take a turn for the worst, as well their potential failing.

THE MARAUDER

>>> For locking up the first troublemaker, you earn a no-nonsense reputation among both the common seamen and the senior officers, as well as The Captain’s favor.

>>> Fewer common seamen join you in your evening nightcaps, and some outright ignore you if they’re not grabbing their rations. You’ve found a new ally in THE AMULET, as well as the favor of the rest of the survivors once they hear word of your actions.

THE RAVEN

>>> For taking the fang to the DOCTOR, you begin to assist them in their research. Soon, you have scores of books that beg deciphering: botany, anatomy, zoology, pages you glimpsed before in Parisian libraries, but never parsed before.

>>> You earn an allyship with the Promethean faction that tolerates the Agathe crew and seeks humane answers for what happened: THE DOCTOR, THE CHAPLAIN, THE VETERAN, THE PURSER. Yet the next day, you begin to see strange bite marks on your body.

THE CAPTAIN

>>> For deciding to turn the Promethean around, you have incited the anger of THE COMMANDER and THE INTREPID, who do not try to hide what thoughts blacken in their eyes: they think you a coward, and they are not alone in sharing this sentiment.

>>> Whispers of your decision turn into outcry from members of your own crew, though THE APOSTATE, THE JUDAS, and THE VOLCANIC are now ready to defend your name against those who used to respect you.

#thqtask #horror rp #skeleton rp #oc rp #literate rp

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thespicn · 4 years

Photo

THE CRUX.

There is no ambiguity in your position: you do not think the voyage should continue when a threat lurks out in the white, growing hungrier each day. You’ve heard The Commander has advised The Captain to continue on with the expedition, and there are those who agree that the trip should not cow to tales of ghosts. You cannot change your story, but you can sully the Commander’s credibility, conjuring rumors and falsities out of thin air. Do you dare?

▷▷▷

[ THE CAPTAIN’S PRIVATE CABIN. ] [ 03:00. ] [ ENTER ACTOR. ]

▷▷▷

ACTOR knows they do not want to leave the Island. It has no name for them, but this: The Island. They want to stay. They want to search the bodies of their friends—or, if not possible, their souls. They want to reach the creature and shakes its hand, its hands, its heart, its hearts. They want to see if it eats souls, as well as veins and cartilages.

ACTOR sits down.

ACTOR wants the Agathe crew to survive. They have no name for them, but this: The Agathe crew. It is not divisible in people and futures: it is a unitary hope. That something human will exist beyond the chaos. That the silver lining they always derided, ridiculed, scorned in favor of the more delicious tragedy, will break over this dawn at last.

They debated leaving the ship in the dead of night, taking a rowing boat. Reaching the Island, alone. Letting the others turn. Letting the others go. And then wading inland, walking, walking, walking til their muscles subside into moss, til their eyelids grow answers, grow sight beyond this world. Til they come upon this Silent beast. This forgotten God.

They might still do it. But first, they have to make sure the ship leaves.

ACTOR grazes eyes over the Captain. Moment of hesitation. Take two.

ACTOR: You astonish me, Monsieur Dowling. I would’ve thought you had enough yesterday. Had your fill. Or is that not why I’m here? A reconnoiter?

CAPTAIN remains quiet. Their pupils are the surface of the ice floe, unbroken. No crack in this glass - the crevasse may remain forever open, split half-through by the shared communion of sin, but it will not budge any wider. Drum of knuckles on the paneling. Waft of bourbon. ACTOR senses it. They must crinkle their nostrils like they mean it. Like they are surprised. Like vice is still a new page in the story.

ACTOR: I see. It’s our conversation you want seconds of, not the... how would you call it? Carnal debauchery?

Pause. The sound of the ocean tightening against the hull. ACTOR tightens, too; body and marrow and cock, straining against trousers. ACTOR nods and pushes it away. This is mental, you see, but it has to show on the face. Practice. Take three.

ACTOR: Bien, aussi. You really do want more bones dug up from the past. Well, I’m all out, Cap’n. Cross my heart and hope to... you know how it goes. Oui. Je croix. No more bones. None of mine, anyway. Alors... your commander?

Tactful pause. ACTOR must fidget with their hands, kick the chair with the side of their shoes. Lightly. ACTOR reaches for the bourbon right before picking up the fallen bomb.

ACTOR: Cedric knew him, a long time ago. At first I did not... comment vous-dites? Stick a face to the name? But then it came to me. My lover mentioned it in passing, when we were reviewing possible targets. Yes, yes. You heard correctly. One does not get by on acting along, do they? If anyone claims it, they are simply better at fooling themselves as well as you. Tip for the future. Neither Cedric nor your Montgomery ever had any intention of sticking to acting - or sailing, for that matter.

ACTOR wonders if they should lie. Once more, this has to break onto their expression - eyes have to drift to the edge of the room, lip has to surrender something of a sigh. The real stun? ACTOR does not need to lie. All of this is true, as much as Cedric told them. Of course, Cedric might have lied, but not even his brilliant, starburst of a mind could ever know that Bastien would meet this man at the ends of the earth. That he would meet him over Cedric’s own graveless grave. His boneless bones. ACTOR pulls themselves back.

ACTOR: Hugo Montogomery sold the secrets of his superiors, and his rivals, too. Sold naval property. Barter, back-alley trade. Women. Webs of lies. Scorch of ruin in his trail, all through France and England, until no one remembered his old name. His names. This is the man that serves you. This is the man you’ll have to stand beside, if you make the choice to doom us all to chaos. And, Captain? This is the man you’ll lose to.

▷▷▷

one final time,

you dare. you dare. you dare.

#thqtask #did it a little different than usual so it prob sucks but i am too ill to care TAKE PITY on this gremlin #* ╰ [ 𝙝𝙮𝙢𝙣𝙖𝙡. ] ⏤ musings.#* ╰ [ 𝙝𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙮. ] ⏤ about.

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