awashlogs | Intro Log.

Ding, dong, bell,
Pussy's in the well.
Who put her in?
Little Johnny Thin.
Who pulled her out?
Little Tommy Stout.
What a naughty boy was that,
To try to drown poor pussy cat,
Who never did him any harm,
But killed all the mice in the farmer's barn.

ou wake in knee-deep water, cold as ice and stagnant, in a space that is far too echoey and spacious. It feels like a massive cave, but looking up... there's only one small, circular opening that shows grey sky and shines any sort of light.

It looks like a long trip upwards, a small cylinder with walls of brick that's just a little too high to reach, even when jumping. Getting out is probably going to be a bit of a task, especially considering the water is more than cold enough to make limbs go numb.

The dark makes it impossible to see much further, but the space seems large, all filled with water, but with no other way out, stone walls the only thing for an intrepid explorer to find.

But most importantly of all... you're not alone.

Welcome to Awash's first intro log, everyone! Please review the FAQ and rules before playing. Characters have all woken at the bottom of the well in the middle of the town (which seems a lot bigger on the inside, somehow), and it looks like they'll have to put in some work to get out.

Once out, they'll be free to explore the various locations the Town has to offer at will. Just try not to die on any of the far-too-rickety walkways.

Further information can be found here at the OOC post, and don't forget to greet your fellow players here!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ shhhhh

The expression the boy wears seems a little strange. Why is he smiling if he's miserable? She doesn't get it. Her brow furrows a little at that, confusion clear on her face, but he keeps going, so she lets it go. She shakes her head at the question. ]

I didn't hurt myself... but...

[ Her attention strays again; it's difficult to meet people's eyes, when she's feeling so uncertain. When she catches sight of his clothes again, wet swaths of fabric on the cold ground, idea sparks. ]

If you're cold, we could build a fire.

[ But that requires something to catch the fire, and hold it... what can she use... ]

[ He gave a little nod and mouthed out a soft "That's good". He might've not been all too enthused about it, but he was honestly happy that she was okay. ]

I guess I should've thought of that.

[ Not that he had anything to start a fire to begin with, and he felt a little capacity he had to go full boy scout and start rubbing sticks together just wasn't there for him at the moment. ]

I'm not sure how well colorless wood catches fire, though.

[ And with that she just. Leaves?? She doesn't even respond to his self-disparaging or concerns...

It doesn't take her terribly long to get back, though, and when she does it's with a small bundle of firewood from some house's neglected stockpile. Just a few pieces should do it.

Without greeting for her return, either, the girl crouches down near the man (and his still-wet clothing) and starts stacking the wood. It feels a little weird to do it... she can't remember ever seeing a fire, and she can't remember building one like this, but she thinks she knows how it should look... ]

[ Caramia makes a noise when she leaves that was probably meant to be a start of a sentence, but whatever it was instantly fell flat as she just vanished. Was he really that boring? Guess that was just a sign that he should get back to his own devices instead of just sitting here waiting to get warm. Maybe there were some towels in this town he could use? Who knows?

Fortunately, he does wait a little longer (moving is hard when you're cold...), and he's ever so relieved to see her return. ]

Oh, signorina, there wasn't any need to go out and do that. You could've at least let me help you.

[ This certainly is a surprise. ]

...Grazie.

[ She doesn't pause from her little building work while he's talking; she's listening, but there's not much to say. He was cold, she could provide heat. It seemed straightforward.

Which is part of why the rest happens so naturally. Just as the man is says his thanks, the girl flicks her wrist, hand sweeping towards the pile of kindling—and without a match, without so much as a spark, flame erupts from the wood, bright and hot and tall as a well-fed campfire, already comfortable. Warmth and light spill forth, but most importantly of all the fire bears color, the reds and yellows of flames from any other world than this.

Well. At least the clothes will dry out quicker. ]

[ Her silence puts Caramia off slightly. He's not sure if he's being ignored, or if she's just that focused. Did she even have a lighter of some sort with her? He is about to open his mouth yet again to ask if she needed help with the whole "trying to start a fire" bit, but all that comes out is a sharp gasp as there's a blaze of reds and golds.

...

There's just silence for a short moment as this dumbfounded lion has his golden eyes scanning the flickering flames. Finally, he turns his gaze to his company. ]

...Signorina, you're a witch?

[ Been a while since he's seen one of those. ]

I'm so sorry. Must be horrible to be forced into a town with so many people like this.

[ Witch — it's such a strong word, and it cuts into the fog like a thrown spear, hitting the its target blind. Witch... she's been called that before. In whispers. With fear. Disparaging and awed and—

She catches her balance on her palm, leaning forward, as pain once again burns in her mind — memories stirred, but not yet surfacing.

A witch without a name...

With a swallow, she looks at the man, uncertain. ]

... What do you mean? Why are you sorry?

[ It's hard to tell what's going through her mind, but she seems a little stunned all the same. Had he said something wrong? Did she not know? Was she from a place where things like that didn't matter, or was she just not aware of it herself? He couldn't tell... And he would feel incredible awkward if he just asked. ]

Well... back home a witch would turn wicked if she lived with people. All the good witches lived in isolation. [ ...He felt bad for them. What a lonely existence. ] It had something to do with... using magic selfishly, I think? I'm not entirely sure...

[ Still a bit stunned by the revelation that she can use magic, he isn't sure if he was even getting a string of coherent thoughts out. He's almost certain he's forgetting something, but he can't remember what that something is. ]

Ah-- But this was already so selfless of you, signorina! I'm sure we'll be back home soon, so it'll be okay!

I was called a witch before.

[ The fire continues to burn — bright and warm and red, feeding easily on the colorless wood; ash and embers are black and white, there in the core. The girl eases back, sitting beside the fire with legs drawn up. ]

... Are they... really that different than other people?

[ Ah... Had he hit a cord? That wasn't his intention. Wasn't always a good thing to speak your mind, was it, Caramia? He's never heard it used as an insult before, but... he could definitely see why it would be. Poor girl... ]

...Aside from using magic, I certainly think not. Just as witches can be good or wicked, people can be, too. I cannot speak for witches as a whole, but I can tell you have a very good heart, signorina.

[ Maybe that's supposed to be a comfort, but it's hard to feel convinced. She doesn't know anything about herself, beyond this power she possesses... how can he know what kind of person she is, when she doesn't know herself? ]

What makes a witch wicked?

Greedily using their magic, generally. But... I haven't known too many witches...

[ She seems... so uncertain of herself. He hesitates for a moment, then turns his gaze to the fire. ]

Are you worried, signorina?

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Intro Log.

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