The Wiccan kids are a stark, black-clad contrast to the rest of the southern locals in this two-bit town, and so when they emerge from wherever-they-hang-out to go about a more normal life, it's not hard to spot them. It means that investigating why there are so many of them -- and what they're up to -- isn't such a difficult task either.
At least, it doesn't seem like it should be.
You spot a couple of them in the street, or perhaps they're eating at the inn. Maybe they're kicking rocks around or poking around in some bushes behind the market. Whatever they're doing, you decide this is the time to approach them and see if you can't get answers.
Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2016 6:55 pm
OOC:
All RP for this prompt should happen in this thread. Note that if you are currently an animal, you cannot participate in this thread, even if you have been captured and brought in. Sorry!
Start by rolling 1d20, and then match your result to the list below. Certain rolls might have special IC rewards or consequences, so be ready! Note: You can only post once every four hours.
Once you've hit 400 words in this thread, you can claim 5XP for this thread, as well as any bonus XP that is listed in individual prompts.
1:
It seems, at first, that you're getting through to these youngsters. One of them looks thoughtful, and then tells you they have something to show you. They lead you off, and you follow them into a trap. Before you know it, you've been surrounded by more of them. They force a potion down your throat and turn you into an animal of your choice. Size is determined by your weapon: agile weapons become small animals, balanced become medium sized, and heavy become large.
At this point, you can no longer participate in this thread, but you gain a bonus 5XP.
2 - 5:
Despite all your best efforts, the wiccans refuse to talk to you -- unless, of course, they deign to give you just enough attention to make fun of you. They certainly aren't going to give you any help.
6 - 10:
You're able to get an in with these kids, and they're willing to talk to you. At first it seems to be going well but, slowly, you realize that they're bullshitting you. The things they tell you seem less and less true, and more outlandish. Eventually, they can't hold their pokerface any longer and burst into laughter.
11 - 15:
You must have said something to reach your mark. They look nervous and uncomfortable, some of their stiff, "who-gives-a-s**t" attitude melting to turn them back into a normal young person. They admit something's going on, but seem too afraid to tell you anything that can be much help. Maybe if you come back and find them again...
At this point, all future efforts in this roll gain a +1. If you roll in this range multiple times, you gain additional +1, with no limit on the top range of your bonus.
16:
Something you said gets through to at least one of the young witches you found. They're willing to speak to you one on one, and tell you about the new witch in town. Rumor is she has been around forever, behind many strange disappearances and phenomena in history.
At this point, all future efforts in this roll gain a +2. If you roll this number multiple times, you gain additional +2, with no limit on the top range of your bonus.
17:
A couple of the kids linger around after the rest have run off; you caught their attention and, between nervous glance, they tell you that many of the animals are wild and set free, unable to survive, but she keeps others by her side as pets and protectors.
At this point, all future efforts in this roll gain a +2. If you roll this number multiple times, you gain additional +2, with no limit on the top range of your bonus.
18:
After some convincing, the small group you cornered goes quiet and still, fidgeting, picking at their fingers. This group is nervous, and was even before you started talking to them. One of them blurts something out about a myth that says moly is the antidote, but it can also be used as a cure. Or at least rumor has it. They hand you a flower, and the rest glare at them.
At this point, all future efforts in this roll gain a +2. If you roll this number multiple times, you gain additional +2, with no limit on the top range of your bonus.
You also gain one Moly Flower consumable item.
19:
You find one wiccan all on their own, and intimidate them into giving you something real, beyond just bits and pieces, lies or stories. They blink behind their eyeliner, obviously terrifiend when they tell you that she lives in an old manor out in the woods...but they can't remember exactly where it is, or how to get there.
At this point, all future efforts in this roll gain a +2. If you roll this number multiple times, you gain additional +2, with no limit on the top range of your bonus.
20:
You've found a deserter in this one. They are done with the games, done with all this, in the bathroom wiping off their makeup with shaking fingers. They tell you she lives in an old manor out in the woods, and hand you a torn piece of a map -- the only way to find Circe's lair.
At this point, you can no longer participate in this thread, but you gain a bonus 5XP and a piece of the map! To claim your piece, please quote and be blue with your reply to the prompt in this thread!
It hadn't taken him long to get directions to the town, and Ernst jogged there as quickly as he could with a shield and pack on his back (which really meant that it was more walking and less jogging). He wasn't that great at wilderness exploration - he'd have to do that in a group. It was fortunate then that there was something else for him to investigate.
Ernst had honestly not imagined it to be so easy to locate these kids. From what he'd heard it has sounded like an isolated group. But maybe that was just what making assumptions. A quick inquiry showed that wasn't just a gang of three or four kids - it seemed like someone had come through an entire high school class year with a Goth-ifying ray. Or something. There were a lot more of these weird kids then he'd been led to believe, was all he was saying.
That made it easy to select receptive looking prey. Which, whoops, made Ernst sounds a lot more predatory than he was. He just wanted to talk, honest! Well, more than that he just wanted everyone to not be an animal. But he framed it a little differently: he was just a normal, maybe too rich guy. And he'd had some friends here, see, and yet he hadn't had word from them in a week! They hadn't seen anyone, right?
Oh, no, surely no one no one here could be suspicious. It was just a nice town - very quiet - yes - but when your friends suddenly stop texting you vacation photos you just worry, you know? You don't think anything truly awful happened to them? No, no they didn't - well. That was some impressive side eye there. Something was maybe weird if Ernst hadn't heard from them in a week. Did they have any ideas? That gave the group pause, but eventually they all answered.
He was getting mostly no's from this group, but Ernst could see a few of them furrowing their brows. He was making them think, at least. There was something dangerous here. That was...good. But if he kept asking this group the same questions, he'd soon be pushing his luck. He thanked them and walked off to find someone else to interrogate.
Mal gave talking to the black-clad Wiccan kids a try -- he had a feel for people from the job before. It wasn't that big a deal to try. And he managed okay, for a while; it felt right, except that the things they were saying just ... didn't fit right. Didn't ring right, in that indefinable way that the truth rang when he was listening for it, listening hard.
He kept his face serious, kept it teasing and tried to keep it light, easy. It was nothing so serious that they should have felt like there was a need to bullshit. But they were bullshitting him, and then they were laughing, and Mal couldn't blame them for it.
He guessed, if he was in something like this and someone from the opposite side approached him and tried to pump him for information, he would have treated them the same way, if not worse. Mal let his breath out among the laughter, and let it go. Teenagers were kids. Teenagers were kids at their meanest, because they didn't know who they were yet. He knew himself well enough to let it go for now as he watched the black clad bodies drift away, still laughing and mocking.
Sylvia didn’t know what to do, but she knew one thing – she wouldn’t get answers sitting around. The only lead they had that she felt could hope to lead to more information was the ridiculous ‘witches’ in town, and darn it all if she wasn’t going to try to hunt them down and see if she couldn’t get something out of them. Not that she knew exactly how she was going to do that, but just about anything was worth trying. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, but she still looked quite young, and she could connect with younger generations in some social settings she shared with them, when necessary.
She remembered the way to town well enough – it wasn’t too far or complicated from the camp. It was mostly a matter of finding any of them that would be an issue. Or perhaps not, depending on how many there were, and given that the bartender had mentioned town being ‘quiet’ lately – pfft. How many citizens had gone missing? How deserted was the town compared to its usual business? She chewed at her lip with a bit of force as she mulled it over.
When she made it to the edge of town, she wasn’t sure exactly where to go. She found the main street and looked up and down the stretch of it trying to feel out a direction. In the end, she turned West and decided to wander, looking up and down the side-streets and peering into windows. Luckily, it didn’t take quite as long as she was afraid it might to find some of the kids. They were leaning against the brick exterior of the drug store and chuckling about – well, she couldn’t hear and she didn’t really care all that much.
She approached them under the guise of needing directions, but they were less than forthcoming even about something so innocent. They essentially mocked her for not figuring out where everything in their tiny town was within the first few minutes, which she supposed seemed fair to them. It was hardly worth even trying to ask more about the town, but she gave it a shot – and was given sneers and more sass in return. In the end, she rolled her eyes and gave up, hoping she might have more luck with a different group.
[ 388 words ]
Quote:
Despite all your best efforts, the wiccans refuse to talk to you -- unless, of course, they deign to give you just enough attention to make fun of you. They certainly aren't going to give you any help.
Character Name:Sylvia Owens Brief description of character: Sweet, optimistic, always trying to be helpful – even if it means bluntly telling you how stupid you’re being. Remains tentative about her new life as a Chosen, having never been a fighter…
Soldier of Song rolled 1 20-sided dice:
17Total: 17 (1-20)
Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2016 11:47 pm
Davor was always an awkward one when it came to socializing. He found himself especially awkward when it came to kids and teenagers. Obviously he'd been one, once. He knew what utter hellions they could be, but he couldn't very well relate to them now. Lingering across the street where a group of the Wiccans loitered in front of the library, he was at least aware enough to know the creep factor only grew the more he just... sort of stood there watching them. If they hadn't noticed, someone else around would, and then they'd probably call the cops to report this hobo-looking ********.
Actually, wouldn't approaching be worse? Would they scatter? He thumbed the flask in his coat pocket, wondering if a bribe of booze might sweeten them up some. It had worked for him in his youth, and some things were just universal. Davor stormed across the street like a man on a mission, stare focused on the teens as he continued shuffling in his pockets for more potential bribery options because on second thought, they might be xXxstraight-edgexXx. Also he'd been in something one might call a cult once, maybe they could bond over ******** sake it ended up being simpler than that. He'd managed to impress them the second he opened his mouth and fumbled through his thick accent, enough of a novelty as an obvious foreigner that they'd tolerated his company, if only to pelt him with questions. But he'd managed to ask some questions right back, without having to break out the alcohol and discussion on animal sacrifices. Davor eventually left, armed with a little more knowledge and no arrests to show for it.
Soldier of Song
Bear
Offline
Smerdle rolled 1 20-sided dice:
8Total: 8 (1-20)
Smerdle
Scamp
Offline
Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2016 12:42 am
Even though he hadn't listened as intently as he should have back at camp, Zan did know these gothy witch kids were worth questioning, even if their increased numbers were just the result of some internet thing. Because, jesus, there were a ton of them.
He scratched at a burgeoning bug bite on his elbow as he approached with a smile, dagger and Hermes token tucked under his shirt. "Did you guys have someone go all 12 Monkeys on your zoo recently? I just passed a flamingo that tried to do some morse code thing with its beak." Zan tapped his foot. "Weird."
He wasn't surprised when they started talking, full of stories of kids from their school opening some sort of vortex and letting out a load of otherworldly fauna. He was surprised when one of them began to laugh halfway through, setting off a chain of derisive giggling. Well, ******** them then.
Quote:
You're able to get an in with these kids, and they're willing to talk to you. At first it seems to be going well but, slowly, you realize that they're bullshitting you. The things they tell you seem less and less true, and more outlandish. Eventually, they can't hold their pokerface any longer and burst into laughter.
Ernst felt a bit like the officer in 21 Chump Street. These kids have gotta learn that there are consequences...was that how the song went?
Hah, well, the point was that witchcraft wasn't all fun and games. He made sure to focus his line of questioning on unusually aggressive wildlife for the next group, which he'd found loitering outside the bar. What was that? Not really dressed for the swamp, was he? He gave a nervous laugh. It was his girlfriend, he revealed, shy. She has come down here with some friends...they weren't a terribly clingy couple but he usually got a few texts with updates or photos of her drinks. And he was just worried...he'd been to the inn she had been staying at and it was - in a hushed voice - abandoned. Where had Amelie gone? And there'd been some creepy raccoons...he shuddered, although in actuality he was still thinking about those birds.
They seemed to have some kind of effect on the group, though. Like the others, they were definitely taken aback by the story. But if they knew more - and it looked like they did, from how personally they took it - they weren't really willing to open up. Actually, they seemed almost scared. That...didn't sound like a promising motivation, honestly.
Second verse, same as the first-- only this time, Mal managed to get one of them alone. He managed to get one of them aside, managed to connect. It was a damn pain in the a**. Mal felt like the muscles he used for that kind of thing were old and out of use, even though it hadn't been more than a month.
Some things got rusty fast, he guessed, as he listened to the kid. Eye contact, sincerity; sometimes he can give those things off like a pretty smell, it just took effort. This time he did it, made that contact with the kid.
The rumors leave him thoughtful, not angry, even over his worry about Misha. Someone will go looking for her, he guesses. Someone who is closer to her than Mal, for all that there had been that other brief moment of connection.
(351 and a +2 on future rolls)
and be blue rolled 1 20-sided dice:
16Total: 16 (1-20)
Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2016 9:28 am
Quote:
Something you said gets through to at least one of the young witches you found. They're willing to speak to you one on one, and tell you about the new witch in town. Rumor is she has been around forever, behind many strange disappearances and phenomena in history.
At this point, all future efforts in this roll gain a +2. If you roll this number multiple times, you gain additional +2, with no limit on the top range of your bonus.
Asher was young and he looked even younger: at 23, he still got IDed literally every time he asked for a beer. Perhaps this was what made the witches agreeable toward him, despite his relatively minimal efforts to get through to them.
He found them sitting at the edge of the swamp and flinging stones into the water, as so many kids might, talking quietly under their breath, and his in had been to slowly, wryly, make fun of a particularly shitty throw. It had made the teen witch whip around to look at him, affronted and annoyed by the cocky way he leaned against a tree and just watched them. In that moment, he'd lost the one, but both of his friends had burst out laughing at the audacity of it.
And so one had agreed to talk to him, only feeding him bits and pieces of information that weren't particularly useful and that, to him, mostly sounded like posturing. Still. It meant that at least some of them thought he was entertaining enough to talk to...
Despite all your best efforts, the wiccans refuse to talk to you -- unless, of course, they deign to give you just enough attention to make fun of you. They certainly aren't going to give you any help.
Rob remembered the way to town well enough and pelted down the trail towards what passed for civilization in this god-forsaken swamp. He was furious. How dare this Circe person take it upon herself to turn innocent people into animals? He had no idea who she thought she was, but if she had any kind of relation to those witchy kids, he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.
He reached the outskirts of town quickly enough, and it wasn't long before he encountered a small group of the kids, all kitted up in their gothy witchy finery. Pretentious little shits. Subtlety was not something Robin Attewood was known for, so he confronted them in the only manner he knew how to when he was this angry: with a sneer and a snarl, hands clenched into fists. Not the most productive attitude to take, but he figured these kids had attitude to spare and might respect someone who came on as strongly as they did.
To his surprise, they not only didn't respond with the information he demanded, they started poking fun at the dreadlocked young man with the funny accent. That only made Rob angrier, which made him shout louder, which made them tease him even more, which made Rob angrier still... It didn't take long before the teens got bored of the game and the shouted abuse hurled at them and wandered off.
Rob was full-on seething by this point. What a bunch of nervy little bastards! He thought for a moment about heading back to the bar and having a couple of beers, but he thought better of it, despite how good a beer would be right now. Instead, he headed down the street in search of another group to interrogate, hopefully with better luck.
Character Name:Robin Attewood Brief description of character: Rob is a dreadlocked punk who's secretly a Boy Scout, a grump with a heart of gold. Pugnacious, fiercely independent and "on" all the time, he loves wine, women and song and is the biggest beer snob on the planet.
He was standing around the inn about twenty minutes later when one of the obnoxious laughing kids approached, scuffling his feet. No, he had been one of a pair of them who had stood near the back of the group looking guilty while the other assholes had laughed. Still.
"I'm... um... sorry about them," he said. "There're no... animal vortexes."
"No s**t."
"There is somethin' goin' on though." The kid glanced behind him, as if he expected one of his friends to see his traitorous ways. "I can't tell you what. But... stick around. You and your people will find out more soon enough." He turned and moved away before Zan could grab him.
"Wait!"
The boy shook his head and broke into a jog.
Quote:
You must have said something to reach your mark. They look nervous and uncomfortable, some of their stiff, "who-gives-a-s**t" attitude melting to turn them back into a normal young person. They admit something's going on, but seem too afraid to tell you anything that can be much help. Maybe if you come back and find them again...
At this point, all future efforts in this roll gain a +1. If you roll in this range multiple times, you gain additional +1, with no limit on the top range of your bonus.
thyPOPE rolled 1 20-sided dice:
6Total: 6 (1-20)
Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2016 1:05 pm
There was something to be said for sheer determination. Ernst hadn't checked in with the camp yet, even though it was getting dark. God, he had food to worry about...but he had his jerky. That wouldn't be enough for everyone, he thought differently. How long could the group survive without eating? And he'd been eating that stew...was he at risk?
Hah. Maybe his distraction was showing. He had been trying a similar sob story - he wasn't sure if they were corroborating around here. He did cut a distinctive figure, so he was worried for his own sake. He got around to describing the weird state of the camp before one of them, to Ernst's surprise, nodded. "Ugly, isn't it?" she said, and then she bit her lip, looking around at her friends. "Look - we don't know much - but...she was my best friend. At first."
It was a pretty good story, too - a girl morphing into someone old and confident and enchanting. She stole human faces to maintain her mortality. They'd all escaped by virtue of being her friends - but recently they'd had to do something heinous. She's really picky about the cut of her ingredients - liked them marinated, dry aged. Seasoned, with a special recipe, if Ernst got their drift. But she was making her friends more and more involved in the process. None of them had signed up for butchery! There was only so much - so much - so -
At first he'd thought she was shaking from tears. Then he realized that she was grinning from ear to ear. "Gotcha!" one of the other kids yelled, and they laughed meanly.
Ernst wanted to say something out of anger, but he had the feeling that it wouldn't really be effective on these kids. But...this was someone's life he was talking about. Ugh - he needed a walk. Or some familiar faces.
Lex wasn’t sure if it was the earrings back in their place, silver hoops down the cartilage, and tiny black spinel studs in the lobe, the hint of something larger at his belly button, hidden by the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Could have been the dermal stud. It could have been that he was muddy and scratched and tired and just sincerely wanted to find out about this witch and not judge them on their life choices.
He had been there. He really had. He didn’t obtain anything much, but he had worn them down a little bit. Enough that finding them again, they might give up a bit more information when admit that something is going on here. He ran his fingers through his curls, lingering on the Hermes badge. Things were going to be okay. He just had to keep moving forward. And trust in Hermes and his luck to keep him from getting into too much trouble. Like furry trouble.
