Event Seventeen.

[awashmods]

I went to the wood and got it; I sat me down to look for it And brought it home because I couldn’t find it.

he magical vines creep ever onward, slowly infringing upon the Town. No matter how many are chopped down, no matter how many are set on fire, they keep coming even so. And slowly, one by one, the people in the Town start to fall to the curse that they bring along with them. Stay and tend to the cursed? Venture out into the woods to find the castle at the source of these vines? Whatever you choose to do, you'd better decide quickly; the curse only seems to get worse and worse the longer everyone is afflicted. Welcome to Awash's seventeenth event log, everyone! Further information on this event can be found here at the OOC post. You are welcome to make your own logs and posts for this event! If there are any questions, please ask them here. Thank you!

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[superioritis]

[ it is fortunate that dextera had the mind to mind to retract that hand. berkut might have been tempted into cutting it off right there. as of now, he merely frowns. ]

How long have you been here?

[passio]

Ah… almost a year now, I think.

[ it feels like longer, really. in his conscious memory, he’s been in this town for more time than he was ever in his own world. this feels like home, even if old habits die hard. ]

It’s not bad here. It’s better than it used to be. And even if you get hurt… death isn’t permanent.

[superioritis]

[ this is troubling news. people have been here a long time. can the same be expected for him? that thought, however, is cut short at the next reveal. berkut's eyes widen. ]

What?

[ doesn't that mean the person merely didn't sustain injuries to cause death? ]

[passio]

[ no one has died since everything that happened with the werewolves and the bogeyman, which is of course a good thing, but it means that they are lacking still in information about the way death works here. ]

It’s…

[ dextera looks at his own hands, still partially covered in blood. ]

People come back.

[superioritis]

[ the blood, it's practically everywhere. the only reason he lingers is because there's something to be learned. ]

How . . . ?

[ some kind of black magic? ]

[passio]

I don’t know. The town.

[ dextera doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea, though— ]

It still hurts to die, but it doesn’t last. So these thorns, the sickness… even if you lose to it, it doesn’t matter.

[superioritis]

[ spoken like a true lowborn. ]

Hmph. You've no pride.

[ unsurprising, but it truly makes berkut cringe internally. ]

[passio]

I’ve died enough.

[ dozens, hundreds of times? not here, only once here, but in his own world where death is somehow even less consequential than it is in this place. at least here, people care. ]

Pride… makes it harder. That’s all.

[superioritis]

Then why don't you become stronger? [ ambivalent about this revelation, he turns away with a huff. ] Or is that concept too foreign for one of common birth?

[passio]

[ there are a lot of things he could say to that, and he finds himself absentmindedly touching his own throat, leaving blood on the column of his neck as he considers his answer. he doesn’t owe someone like this the truth of the matter—that’s the person he’s become talking, but the person he used to be still wants to grovel and explain and excuse. ]

I have my own kind of strength.

[ that’s what he decides. ]

Don’t you?

[superioritis]

[ the rooted answer exceeds berkut's meager expectation, catching him by surprise. his eyebrows arch as he glances back at dextera. ]

Naturally, I do.

[ those are his parting words. deciding that he has no more to share after that small display of spine, he straightens and makes his exit by continuing on his original path.

please, don't gather or eat nasty things in front of him next time. ]