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Entry tags:
- alien stage: ivan,
- alien stage: till,
- arcane: powder / jinx,
- arcane: viktor,
- arknights: texas,
- event,
- ffxv: ignis scientia,
- hsr: aventurine,
- inception: arthur,
- jujutsu kaisen: megumi fushiguro,
- mod,
- oc: kalmiya longwillow,
- omori: sunny,
- outlast: miles upshur,
- rwby: ozpin,
- smtv: yuzuru atsuta,
- ssss: onni hotakainen,
- xenoblade chronicles: noah
CALCUTTA • JULY 2025 EVENT
EVENT: CALCUTTA
ᛗ I am caught, tangled in
( content warnings: body horror, surreal horror, post-apocalyptic themes )
You wake with soil under your nails, something sharp in your mouth, and the scent of damp rust in the back of your throat. The sky is not night, but it is no longer day. Around you, a city's skeleton lies tangled in ruin and overgrowth in the crisp, tail end nips of autumn— skyscrapers strangled by vine and mycelium tower around you, streets are cracked open like wounds. No sound of civilization. Only wind, soft and low like breath.
You are not where you should be, and you are not entirely who you were. Do you remember the dream you had? Perhaps barely, perhaps almost too vividly. You will likely find a mask nearby— one you find familiar. While you may not have the same urgency to wear it as you did within the dreamscape, you at the very least feel the need to carry it with you now.
Some wake in subway tunnels pulsing with bioluminescence, others in penthouse ruins swallowed by moss and red ivy. Rooftop gardens filled with brittle blossoms. Empty galleries hung with paintings that seem to shift when you’re not looking. Vessels are absolutely scattered. You can wake up anywhere that's possible within the bones of this city. Life endures here, but it is changed. In the streets, rats with slick, glowing underskin scurry between collapsed signs. Pigeons wheel overhead, blind-eyed and silent. Dogs and cats roam in feral bands, some marked by fungal growths, others with bodies too long, too many limbs, or split maws bursting with tendrils. Deer can also be found roaming the enclosure of what used to be Central Park, and will open their strange mouths when they seem to stare at you. Seem, because they no longer have eyes to do that with. From deeper shadows and thicker canopies come the zoo escapees: a moose that climb walls and have a petrifying gaze, herds of zebra stand frozen like littered statues until they hear noises, to which they will scatter like roaches. Sewer grates rattle beneath your feet, and something wet and ancient stirs in the depths— Hippos that release toxic gases when threatened lay in the waters and gnaw on anything they could get their teeth on. The most gentle of them all are the giraffes; they still attempt to nibble on the falling sunset leaves where still gathered, and will even come up to humans who offer anything green for them to eat. There's so much more left unsaid, if you're unlucky enough to come across them.
The flora is no safer. Familiar trees such as maple, ginkgo and oak still grow in parks and fracture ciment with their powerful roots. Plenty of the bark is etched with a strange set of sigils that hum when approached. Ivy pulses with low light and throbs when touched. Entire buildings are choked with fungus: spires of mushroom growths that sway despite the absence of wind, spores spilling like ash when disturbed. Moss spreads across broken windows in fractal shapes, responding to movement, to emotion with colors beyond what you could imagine. Wildflowers bloom in moonlight— roses with petal-thorns and daffodils exhale perfume that clouds your thoughts.
And still, the city seems to watch you soundlessly. Beneath your feet, the soil responds. Something old sleeps in the brickwork, the concrete, the iron bones of this place— and your presence has stirred it.
You'd better get moving. Survive.
NOTES:
You are not where you should be, and you are not entirely who you were. Do you remember the dream you had? Perhaps barely, perhaps almost too vividly. You will likely find a mask nearby— one you find familiar. While you may not have the same urgency to wear it as you did within the dreamscape, you at the very least feel the need to carry it with you now.
Some wake in subway tunnels pulsing with bioluminescence, others in penthouse ruins swallowed by moss and red ivy. Rooftop gardens filled with brittle blossoms. Empty galleries hung with paintings that seem to shift when you’re not looking. Vessels are absolutely scattered. You can wake up anywhere that's possible within the bones of this city. Life endures here, but it is changed. In the streets, rats with slick, glowing underskin scurry between collapsed signs. Pigeons wheel overhead, blind-eyed and silent. Dogs and cats roam in feral bands, some marked by fungal growths, others with bodies too long, too many limbs, or split maws bursting with tendrils. Deer can also be found roaming the enclosure of what used to be Central Park, and will open their strange mouths when they seem to stare at you. Seem, because they no longer have eyes to do that with. From deeper shadows and thicker canopies come the zoo escapees: a moose that climb walls and have a petrifying gaze, herds of zebra stand frozen like littered statues until they hear noises, to which they will scatter like roaches. Sewer grates rattle beneath your feet, and something wet and ancient stirs in the depths— Hippos that release toxic gases when threatened lay in the waters and gnaw on anything they could get their teeth on. The most gentle of them all are the giraffes; they still attempt to nibble on the falling sunset leaves where still gathered, and will even come up to humans who offer anything green for them to eat. There's so much more left unsaid, if you're unlucky enough to come across them.
The flora is no safer. Familiar trees such as maple, ginkgo and oak still grow in parks and fracture ciment with their powerful roots. Plenty of the bark is etched with a strange set of sigils that hum when approached. Ivy pulses with low light and throbs when touched. Entire buildings are choked with fungus: spires of mushroom growths that sway despite the absence of wind, spores spilling like ash when disturbed. Moss spreads across broken windows in fractal shapes, responding to movement, to emotion with colors beyond what you could imagine. Wildflowers bloom in moonlight— roses with petal-thorns and daffodils exhale perfume that clouds your thoughts.
And still, the city seems to watch you soundlessly. Beneath your feet, the soil responds. Something old sleeps in the brickwork, the concrete, the iron bones of this place— and your presence has stirred it.
You'd better get moving. Survive.
NOTES:
• You must find shelter, water, and food. Anything that can be found in city stores is plausible, but much of the food will be expired or ransacked by the lives before yours, or animals. The Host-fauna are edible if you can stomach it, and some may talk in tongues before they die. The flora is a mixed bag, from harmless to not.OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS
• The environment is reactive: Touch a wall and it pulses. Step into an abandoned deli and the shelves might whisper for a second.
• Tokens will feel a strange resonance when near remnants of human structure, especially things tied to strong emotion (graffiti, photos, childhood toys, street art, music).OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS
• Tokens will feel warm when close to sites where others have suffered or are remembered deeply. These sensations are disorienting but emotionally vivid, almost like deja vu.
• Tokens could experience nosebleeds or migraines near intense emotional hotspots. This is their magic wanting an outlet, but too newly formed to pour itself out.
• Offerings will feel the thrum of the Murmur, like a second heartbeat in the earth, when near fungal flora or decayed nature.
• Offerings will feel oddly familiar with the world around them, as if it recognizes them and vice verse. Scents linger longer and skin responds to temperature or emotion in exaggerated ways.
• The act of hunting and consuming host fauna is euphoric, but only for a moment— followed by a haunting awareness of their own anatomy shifting from the inside in ways they should fear.
ᛗ
And I wake, say your name
( content warnings: sensory distortion )
One night— it doesn't matter which, time has loosened— your mask beckons. Something is encouraging you to put it on. It sears cold when you do. A pressure behind your eyes grows sharp, then splits. Suddenly, the silence inside your skull isn't yours anymore.
The Murmur is stirring.
A psychic thread pulls taut through your mind like a bow ready to shoot. Language might fail. Images are the easiest to come first— flickers of hands, blood, feathers, fire. Then voices, soft and reverent, speaking your name in words you don't know but understand. Some speak back. Some yell. Some sing. You sense others, Tokens humming with potential, Offerings heavy with heat and pain.
You are not alone. You never were.
NOTES:
OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS:
The Murmur is stirring.
A psychic thread pulls taut through your mind like a bow ready to shoot. Language might fail. Images are the easiest to come first— flickers of hands, blood, feathers, fire. Then voices, soft and reverent, speaking your name in words you don't know but understand. Some speak back. Some yell. Some sing. You sense others, Tokens humming with potential, Offerings heavy with heat and pain.
You are not alone. You never were.
NOTES:
• Your gamewide "network" is live! Try to reach someone through the Murmur. Perhaps a thought, a memory, or just a name. Players are welcomed to create prompts within this log or post to the network community proper.
• Communication may come in fragments. Images repeat, words loop, emotion surges without cause or by accident. One name in particular echoes:
You may try to reach for her, even if your chances are slim. You might end up contacting someone or something else entirely.
OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS:
• Tokens may begin having their first access to inner magic. Not enough to use consciously, but enough to glitch with use, accidental or not. A friendly reminder that characters should not be able to use their magic with ease, yet. Keep in mind they should all have a realistic adjustment period.OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS:
• Tokens may have sensory overlaps: seeing sounds, hearing memories, tasting colors.
• Tokens may be energy sensitive. Areas with high ambient emotion (graveyards, burnt apartments, memorable objects) seem to strengthen their clarity but exaggerate their magic in startling bursts.
• Offerings may have their transformation accelerate when using the Murmur's network, albeit in a way that glitches in and out. A friendly reminder that characters should not be able to use their transformations with ease, yet. Keep in mind they should all have a realistic adjustment period.
• Offerings may hear less words, more songs, breathing, scent— nonverbal communication that may be overwhelming.
• Offerings may experience intense somatic reactions while using the network: twitching limbs, sudden pain, the sense of being stroked or watched.
ᛗ
Wrapped and quartered
( content warnings: body horror )
As the days bleed together, the city begins to still. Where once the overgrowth pulsed with strange life, now it withers back into itself. The streets grow colder. The air bites. The mutated fauna, once noisy, prowling, goes silent. Ivy wilts, retreating from the moonlight. The mushroom towers collapse in on themselves with wet sighs. Even the buildings seem to hold their breath. Your own exhales frost in the air, hanging like ghosts. Above, the sky splits at the seams— crimson bleeding in from the edges, as if the moon itself were being peeled open at the arrival of winter.
And then: the masks begin to thrum.
It is subtle at first, a hum at the base of the spine. A low vibration felt rather than heard. But it grows, constant, inescapable— as if something is ticking down inside you. The masks react even when untouched, glowing faintly, twitching. You feel it in your chest. A second heartbeat. You're urged to put it on.
A voice, familiar and female, threads through the Murmur like static on a broken radio. Espera says:
Your body responds before your mind does. Magic stirs in your bloodstream— volatile and half-born. For some, flame dances along their fingertips, mirrors twitch in response to their gaze, or their pulse sings in electric rhythm. For others, bones shift beneath skin, teeth ache with growth, limbs feel wrong. Something is changing about you. Slowly. Irreversibly.
NOTES:
OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS:
And then: the masks begin to thrum.
It is subtle at first, a hum at the base of the spine. A low vibration felt rather than heard. But it grows, constant, inescapable— as if something is ticking down inside you. The masks react even when untouched, glowing faintly, twitching. You feel it in your chest. A second heartbeat. You're urged to put it on.
A voice, familiar and female, threads through the Murmur like static on a broken radio. Espera says:
Your body responds before your mind does. Magic stirs in your bloodstream— volatile and half-born. For some, flame dances along their fingertips, mirrors twitch in response to their gaze, or their pulse sings in electric rhythm. For others, bones shift beneath skin, teeth ache with growth, limbs feel wrong. Something is changing about you. Slowly. Irreversibly.
NOTES:
• Animal hosts may react reverently to tethered pairs. Lone vessels are ignored, followed, or violently met.OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS
• Winter is here in full, but it doesn't seem natural— it is a forced shift. The city feels colder, quieter, and more hostile. Even the corrupted ecosystem seems to brace for something larger.
• Magic is awakening further. All vessels, Token and Offering alike, begin to experience supernatural phenomena more intensely. These changes are often involuntary, especially under emotional or physical duress. Powers may flicker, trigger, or distort, reflecting the vessel's inner state. They should not have control of it yet.
• The call to Tether is no longer subtle— it is urgent. Even characters who resist connection may optionally feel the biological/spiritual pressure to Tether. Those who remain untethered may begin to feel destabilized, sensitive to The Murmur, and/or experience the subtle beginnings of Succumbence.
• Tokens may have unintentional magic surges in times of distress OR the awakening of "comfort zones". Small, warped spaces where reality thins into dreamscape, resembling meaningful memories (a childhood room, a stage, a battlefield). These zones offer eerie familiarity, but not safety from the weather.
• They may feel watched by something divine, but dispassionate— like being studied under a microscope.
• They may feel a need for proximity so great that the body physically aches. In worst case scenarios, you may even fall ill the longer you ignore your body's cry to dissipate your building magic. Tethering will immediately resolve this.
OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS:
• An Offering's new instincts and transformations may begin to surface. Fear of fire. Yearning for music. It will all depend on what you're becoming. One thing that may be shared is a fierce protectiveness toward nearby Tokens.
• They may sense that something is weighing their souls against an invisible scale— not to punish you, but to categorize you. You have the inexplicable feeling that it is also the same thing that is shaping you.
• They may feel compelled to nest or anchor themselves near a Token's comfort zone or with a Token— circling the space like a sentinel or beast returning home. Tethering will make you whole, calm and seen.
ᛗ
Missing pieces find me
( content warnings: uncanny doppelgängers, possible visions of murder, violence, self harm. )
Winter has settled into everything with soft snowfall. Into your joints. Into the breath you share with others in the dark, or by an impromptu fire with scraps. Into the way your name sounds now when someone says it soft like a secret, or a warning. You've learned to ration warmth like a dwindling supply.
You've grown used to the rhythm of this place: the creak of half-dead buildings, the hollow crunch beneath your feet, the subtle hum that coils through the threads between you and the ones you've chosen to keep close throughout the month. The ones who understand that survival isn't just about staying alive.
But lately, something else has begun to settle in. It's not loud, and certainly not obvious. A shift, like a door left open too long. And that, Dear Vessels, starts in your reflections.
You see it in the fractured edge of glass, or in water that should have frozen weeks ago. In any surface slick enough to cast back your image, you may look, and it looks back. You move, and sometimes it moves too— but not quite right. A second too late. A second too early. Sometimes not at all.
And then it smiles, or frowns, or spits.
It is just enough to be wrong. Unnerving. Just enough to slip under your skin like splinters. You tilt your head— your reflection doesn't. You blink— it watches. And then you turn away. You tell yourself it's the frost. The tension. The light. But when you glance back, it’s still watching you.
Other vessels are seeing it, too, even if they don't say it out loud. They pause at windows. They look into still water a beat too long. They touch their own faces like they're checking for something missing. Or added. Something extra.
At least your reflection isn’t hurting you. Well. Not yet.
NOTES:
OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS:
OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS
You've grown used to the rhythm of this place: the creak of half-dead buildings, the hollow crunch beneath your feet, the subtle hum that coils through the threads between you and the ones you've chosen to keep close throughout the month. The ones who understand that survival isn't just about staying alive.
But lately, something else has begun to settle in. It's not loud, and certainly not obvious. A shift, like a door left open too long. And that, Dear Vessels, starts in your reflections.
You see it in the fractured edge of glass, or in water that should have frozen weeks ago. In any surface slick enough to cast back your image, you may look, and it looks back. You move, and sometimes it moves too— but not quite right. A second too late. A second too early. Sometimes not at all.
And then it smiles, or frowns, or spits.
It is just enough to be wrong. Unnerving. Just enough to slip under your skin like splinters. You tilt your head— your reflection doesn't. You blink— it watches. And then you turn away. You tell yourself it's the frost. The tension. The light. But when you glance back, it’s still watching you.
Other vessels are seeing it, too, even if they don't say it out loud. They pause at windows. They look into still water a beat too long. They touch their own faces like they're checking for something missing. Or added. Something extra.
At least your reflection isn’t hurting you. Well. Not yet.
NOTES:
• A shimmering surface of any kind could reflect two vessels at once but their reflections are fighting. There's blood between them . . .
• At night, the moon above is bright, ice blue and full, with its edges tainted by a splowly spreading crimson. Characters may notice that in reflections, it is completely red and the tendrils from within spew out. A double take will have this reflection of the moon disappearing.
• Characters (especially those who may not be able to see the reflections) may notice and hear their comrade's reflections laughing or speaking to them— they may even respond and try to carry conversation. Note that it's the reflection that's doing this sporadically, and not the real person.
OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS:
• Tokens may notice their hands glowing in thier reflection, but not outside it. After a few moments, the same magic curls up their arms. Their mirrorselves are trying to access their magic for them, so best redirect anything if you want to avoid possible friendly fire.
• They may realize their reflection is always watching their Tether, even as they sleep. It tilts its head, comes crawling with a knife raised, drives it down— then it's gone.
• They may see their mirrorselves practicing violence on nearby objects, anything they could get their hands on.
OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS
• Offerings may wake to burning, superficial claw marks on their sides. Their reflections will be found licking their fingers.
• They may notice their reflection becoming violent with their nearby Tethers; pulling them by the hair, biting into them, prying at their eyes, etc.
• They may see their reflections pushing into existing wounds and feeding, wherever they are.
no subject
[It is easy from what Ignis has been told to judge Noah's world as bleak and so he had before, but there must be more. A balance, if the young man truly believes what he's just said, and Ignis would dearly like to know what could balance out so much pain and heartbreak.]
no subject
who was he to stop that? ]
The people. Even though our time together is short . . . meeting all those people. Seeing human nature. Children. Lives. Loves.
Knowing these things exist . . . that gives me happiness.
no subject
Wait, though, hadn't Noah said they weren't born?]
Children? There are children despite how short your time is?
[Is he prying too much? Hopefully, Noah will let him know if he is.]
no subject
Not with us. But there's a group of people that escape those shackles. In a place call the City. There, people grow. Have . . . spouses? And have families.
no subject
The City must have seemed like some kind of dream to you when you first found it.
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It took our breaths away. Knowing life could be this way.
no subject
[And Ignis has imagined it a time or two, mostly when he was younger. Wouldn't it be nice if the war with Niflheim was over and the Scourge gone so Noctis could rule in peace? It would be Ignis' dream, but Noah's dream for his world manages to eclipse it.]
You said the world wasn't suppose to be the way it is. Do you think now that you've found the City there may be hope to change it back to how it's suppose to be?
no subject
noah buries it ruthlessly. ]
It's out of my hands now. I've passed the torch.
no subject
Why must saving all require the loss of so many?
Ignis shakes away the vision, forcing himself to focus on something other than the empty pit that vision always puts in his stomach.]
As long as there are others to carry on, hope continues.
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it's just. cruel. what the world asks of them. ]
Someone will. I have no doubts there.
no subject
[The words are so far from being enough that Ignis almost doesn't speak them, but he feels the need to say something, so he does. It makes him wonder, though, if Noctis is the one sacrificed for their world, does that mean that he, Gladiolus, and Prompto are the ones left to carry one?
The idea is like daggers in his heart and so it is shoved away. If he isn't sure of his place with Noctis with his vision gone, what in the Astrals' names place would he have in a world where he has no vision and Noctis is gone?]
I do apologize for asking so many questions, especially on things so close to your heart. Please feel free to ask me any you would like in return.
no subject
If we don't talk and share, how do we survive?
[ hm. ]
Maybe you can share something about yourself. A hobby or a desire.
no subject
Indeed, stories are one of the few things that can truly live forever. They guide, they teach, they excite people, and they make them grieve.
[The prophecy has existed for thousands of years now and they are just starting to write the final chapter. Ignis would give everything to change the ending he's been shown, but that task is far away from where he is now.]
Ah, you would ask if I have a hobby.
[The words are laced with self-conscious amusement.]
My duties tend to keep me very, very busy. I do cook, so I suppose that could count.
[If he learned to cook for someone else, does that count as a hobby, though?]
no subject
All right. Do you enjoy it?
no subject
When I manage to trick my king into eating his vegetables? It's bloody amazing.
[If nothing else, he takes great pride in the skill and how happy people are after meals, but nothing holds a candle to when he manages to hide those vegetables so well Noctis' keen senses can't hunt them out.]
no subject
We had a chef who traveled with us. She loved her cooking. And she shared so many great recipes.
no subject
[Ignis can't help but be curious. It's not like he will be cooking anytime soon, but he still can't help but seek out inspiration for new dishes.]
no subject
But it was probably her "Battle Soup".
no subject
[Consider his interest piqued.]
Would that be a soup to help prepare one for battle or one made from the spoils of a battle?
[He actually has versions of both he cooks for the others back home, though he's not sure how often Noah would be fighting monsters or other kinds of animals considering the way his world works. Meanwhile, doing hunts was a big way their group made money.]
no subject
Maybe. I'm not sure why she called it that. She was a cook for the special forces so I guess you're not wrong that it probably gave people a deserved boost in the fight ahead.
She is so cute!!
[And, if they get burned toast? It's best to start thinking about making amends because it's never good to go into battle with your medic upset at you!]
yeah she's a sweetie.
We were lucky to have Manana.
no subject
[He can't help but chuckle.]
I suspect that the idea of having toast over and over again may encourage at least one of them to offer to be my eyes for a little while.
no subject
Your eyes?
Are you ill?
no subject
No, I lost my vision in battle just before coming here. I managed to save my king's life, so I have no regrets, but things will likely be much harder for us once I return home.
[In other words, he hadn't thought his clever plan all the way through. Overwhelming emotion does that to a person, which is why he's always fought so hard to keep it under lock and key. But the Chancellor--purposefully, Ignis is sure now that he's had time to think on it with a clear head--had hit one of his rage buttons when he had threatened Noctis and all his control had been shattered.]
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