Unfinished Library Mod & NPC Account (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
libraryassistants) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
unfinishedlibrary2025-11-14 08:20 am
libraryassistants) wrote in unfinishedlibrary2025-11-14 08:20 am
It's a beautiful day in the village - TAKE A LOAD OFF, LOG 1
Who: Readers and Actors
What: Beta Story Start - At the start of any particular Story, characters will be drawn to a section of the Stacks. Those inclined to resist will find themselves there anyway, through the shifts and changes inherent to the Library's structure. The Story manuscript will be laid out neatly on a side table, its pages lit by a faint aura that draws focus and beckons insistently to the Editors. Touching it will bring them into the Story.
Characters can either voluntarily touch the Story to enter it, or the Librarian will eventually sweep them in. Regardless of how long it takes them to enter, everyone will arrive at the same point in time.
When: November 14- November 27
Where: Woodhurst (UK) and the SS Radiance (in space!), 2019
Content warnings: Please tag warnings in comment headers!
In Woodhurst
It’s another Monday morning in Woodhurst, and as is often the case for the United Kingdom in the fall, it is raining. It is, all in all, a rather typical Monday morning. People shuffle off to work, dropping by the various cafes and shops for their morning caffeine. Polite (if meaningless) greetings are exchanged, vague comments about the weather are made. Heads down, trudging along, just keeping things going.
By midday, it’s clear that this Monday is a little bit… different. There are some people who seem especially cheerful and helpful. Perhaps you’ve just been served a free upsize of your morning coffee. Or a stranger held an umbrella up for you. People keep talking about the benefits of yoga? And it’s not just a bunch of people seeming to be having an especially good day and paying it forward (that would be strange enough). Some of your friends and loved ones aren’t acting like themselves, aside from being remarkably cheerful. They don’t seem to remember basic things, don’t know their normal rituals, and are generally just very off. You think one of them might have blinked sideways? Whatever it is that’s happened, it doesn’t seem right.
As for those ‘friends and loved ones’… The novices from the Interstellar Group are largely inexperienced with such a thing as covert operations. Fresh off the ship and with no frame of reference, their human disguises may have a few significant flaws.
However many fingers it is they have, they’re keen to help - perhaps a little too much so. Whatever it takes to make these human lives easier, whatever they can do to help them relax - the Group are on it! Hopefully they’ll catch on quietly.
On the IMW Group Supply Ship: Radiance
No plan survives contact with the enemy, is how the saying goes. But within the Interstellar Mindfulness & Wellness Group, the concept is usually applied to patients. Patients are, almost entirely across the board, unpredictable creatures - and while the science behind wellness is robust, there’s simply too much individual variation for a standardised approach. That being said, this particular plan seems to be going… rather more poorly than expected. It starts to break down once the word ‘kidnapping’ is brought up. It’s such an ugly word to use. The Group tries to avoid it. But in some of these cases, the humans need the Group’s own facilities! The idea was to convince the humans to follow them to a very not suspicious space capsule, or to get them to touch this particularly strange teleportation device, and they’d be on their way to recovery. However, most if not all the humans seem to be reacting… quite negatively to that. It’s almost like they don’t understand that this is for their benefit!
The ship is very nice, and perfectly designed to relax and comfort (--for the species the Group are familiar with, at least). Soothing music plays along the spaceship’s halls, which are lit in a soft violet glow. Potted plants are artfully displayed, though none of them are recognisable as any species found on Earth. For those with a sensitive nose, the flowers give off a bright, delicate scent; not unlike that of lavender and lemon myrtle. An entire stretch of glass is dedicated to the view outside, the Earth looking so serene from this distance; stars shining in the space around it.
For those Aliens aboard the mothership, maybe you’re delivering this hour’s yoga session. Maybe you’re leading a group chant or meditation. Are you perhaps talking humans into resting in the healing spa, or - for those so inclined - are you delving deeper, forming a connection, and really getting to know these humans? For the humans… well, at least the spa looks really nice, right?
[Space Spa Features:
Yoga - you’ve been herded into a room where a flexible alien encourages you to breathe deeply; holding it in your stomach and feeling your heart beat before letting it out in a big sigh. The routine is not very different to yoga on Earth, except… well, if you can’t find your proboscis, maybe that particular pose won’t work for you.
Sauna - the heat promotes circulation, but the temperature in here seems to be a little off.
Spa - you know what a spa is. Or, you thought you did. It looks like the aliens aren’t quite on the same page. Where there would normally be cucumbers, there’s a strange pink fruit. Where you’d expect water, there’s… a viscous fluid, gently rotating through a myriad of colours, that seems to soften and soothe your muscles as you soak in it.
And Others - the aliens have no shortage of remedies for what ails you! Since this is their first time experiencing humans, results may vary.]
Optional prompts (player-run):
An alien adrift, unsure what task to complete? Seek guidance from your leader.
In Woodhurst, unnerved and skeptical? Drop in at your local seedy bookshop to chat with some alien enthusiasts.
[Have a plan to drive the Story direction? Let us know, and we’ll add it to the list!
Info post can be found here.]
What: Beta Story Start - At the start of any particular Story, characters will be drawn to a section of the Stacks. Those inclined to resist will find themselves there anyway, through the shifts and changes inherent to the Library's structure. The Story manuscript will be laid out neatly on a side table, its pages lit by a faint aura that draws focus and beckons insistently to the Editors. Touching it will bring them into the Story.
Characters can either voluntarily touch the Story to enter it, or the Librarian will eventually sweep them in. Regardless of how long it takes them to enter, everyone will arrive at the same point in time.
When: November 14- November 27
Where: Woodhurst (UK) and the SS Radiance (in space!), 2019
Content warnings: Please tag warnings in comment headers!
In Woodhurst
It’s another Monday morning in Woodhurst, and as is often the case for the United Kingdom in the fall, it is raining. It is, all in all, a rather typical Monday morning. People shuffle off to work, dropping by the various cafes and shops for their morning caffeine. Polite (if meaningless) greetings are exchanged, vague comments about the weather are made. Heads down, trudging along, just keeping things going.
By midday, it’s clear that this Monday is a little bit… different. There are some people who seem especially cheerful and helpful. Perhaps you’ve just been served a free upsize of your morning coffee. Or a stranger held an umbrella up for you. People keep talking about the benefits of yoga? And it’s not just a bunch of people seeming to be having an especially good day and paying it forward (that would be strange enough). Some of your friends and loved ones aren’t acting like themselves, aside from being remarkably cheerful. They don’t seem to remember basic things, don’t know their normal rituals, and are generally just very off. You think one of them might have blinked sideways? Whatever it is that’s happened, it doesn’t seem right.
As for those ‘friends and loved ones’… The novices from the Interstellar Group are largely inexperienced with such a thing as covert operations. Fresh off the ship and with no frame of reference, their human disguises may have a few significant flaws.
However many fingers it is they have, they’re keen to help - perhaps a little too much so. Whatever it takes to make these human lives easier, whatever they can do to help them relax - the Group are on it! Hopefully they’ll catch on quietly.
On the IMW Group Supply Ship: Radiance
No plan survives contact with the enemy, is how the saying goes. But within the Interstellar Mindfulness & Wellness Group, the concept is usually applied to patients. Patients are, almost entirely across the board, unpredictable creatures - and while the science behind wellness is robust, there’s simply too much individual variation for a standardised approach. That being said, this particular plan seems to be going… rather more poorly than expected. It starts to break down once the word ‘kidnapping’ is brought up. It’s such an ugly word to use. The Group tries to avoid it. But in some of these cases, the humans need the Group’s own facilities! The idea was to convince the humans to follow them to a very not suspicious space capsule, or to get them to touch this particularly strange teleportation device, and they’d be on their way to recovery. However, most if not all the humans seem to be reacting… quite negatively to that. It’s almost like they don’t understand that this is for their benefit!
The ship is very nice, and perfectly designed to relax and comfort (--for the species the Group are familiar with, at least). Soothing music plays along the spaceship’s halls, which are lit in a soft violet glow. Potted plants are artfully displayed, though none of them are recognisable as any species found on Earth. For those with a sensitive nose, the flowers give off a bright, delicate scent; not unlike that of lavender and lemon myrtle. An entire stretch of glass is dedicated to the view outside, the Earth looking so serene from this distance; stars shining in the space around it.
For those Aliens aboard the mothership, maybe you’re delivering this hour’s yoga session. Maybe you’re leading a group chant or meditation. Are you perhaps talking humans into resting in the healing spa, or - for those so inclined - are you delving deeper, forming a connection, and really getting to know these humans? For the humans… well, at least the spa looks really nice, right?
[Space Spa Features:
Yoga - you’ve been herded into a room where a flexible alien encourages you to breathe deeply; holding it in your stomach and feeling your heart beat before letting it out in a big sigh. The routine is not very different to yoga on Earth, except… well, if you can’t find your proboscis, maybe that particular pose won’t work for you.
Sauna - the heat promotes circulation, but the temperature in here seems to be a little off.
Spa - you know what a spa is. Or, you thought you did. It looks like the aliens aren’t quite on the same page. Where there would normally be cucumbers, there’s a strange pink fruit. Where you’d expect water, there’s… a viscous fluid, gently rotating through a myriad of colours, that seems to soften and soothe your muscles as you soak in it.
And Others - the aliens have no shortage of remedies for what ails you! Since this is their first time experiencing humans, results may vary.]
Optional prompts (player-run):
An alien adrift, unsure what task to complete? Seek guidance from your leader.
In Woodhurst, unnerved and skeptical? Drop in at your local seedy bookshop to chat with some alien enthusiasts.
[Have a plan to drive the Story direction? Let us know, and we’ll add it to the list!
Info post can be found here.]
no subject
An effort that isn't blind, panicky running. On clearer straightaways, where he can tell Illarion shifted from one track to another, he breaks his easy steady pursuit and moves significantly faster, well aware his target is far ahead.
He doesn't climb the trees after Illarion when the shrike goes vertical most times, the smell of him aloft marking some place where he'd gone up even without claws and damage to show for it, and inevitably a mark when he reaches the ground again; it slows Konrad only marginally.
Climbing up after him right now is a waste of energy. There's nowhere to hide in these smaller trees. Not so much the enormous oak somehow missed by loggers and time; once more scent isn't on the ground, it's in the air.
An obvious place to try to hide. Could dead things get tired? Could they grow weary of running and seek a place to rest?
Through the trees and across the forest floor on bare feet comes Illarion's bemused hunter, rather sooner than he should at that easy pace - he must have broken it at some point and chosen to run instead of stroll. And to normal vision he's not easy to spot, long shadows strangely obscuring beyond even what little the damp, cloudy forest would normally allow for. To other, less mundane senses in other dimensions there's no mistaking where he is at any given time.
The oak and its largest surviving children are circled on silent bare feet slowly, testing wind direction and signs of his target having left the area. No. No, the undead xenos is still here, and a flicker of the impression of the next few minutes leaves him certain of it. The speed Curze is used to is still thoroughly absent, much to his annoyance, but ascent of something so large and sturdy is a simple enough task, pulling himself up with an ease that belied using only short ragged sharp nails and strength to accomplish.
no subject
Exhilarating. Disquieting. Both -- it would be terrifying if this hunt held any stakes for Illarion, if he were taking it seriously. (He does not know he should be.) But he's yet got tricks up his sleeve, the sort no hunter expects if they haven't tracked Shroudwood prey in the broken-mirror maze the pillar had made of the shrike homeland. So he waits until the primarch's circled the stand of oak and ascertained his presence -- waits until the other man's committed to the climb -- then abruptly vanishes from his perch.
Or so it would look to anyone without ((eyes)) to see, as he twists kata of the oak's crown and slides down ((around)) it. He can't go too far this way, outside the surface of the world more limited creatures can see, but he does go to ground and walk straight out of the grove two hundred yards -- three hundred -- before stepping ana again and resuming his usual shape in the world.
He's put the whole bole of the ancient oak between himself and any prying eyes, and he's downwind of his pursuer. He creeps directly away as soundless as a cat, passing ((around)) rather than stepping on anything that would give him away.
It's an expensive trick, but he's never had to do it for long, in his experience. The break in his trail should be disorienting enough.
no subject
Curze pulls himself onto a branch barely strong enough to hold his weight and crouches there, hands resting on his knees, otherwise immobile for the span of several breaths. He's pursued all kinds of sapient prey, most human, some not, but few of the tricks they pulled could fool him for long.
And yet the dead xenos is missing. Not entirely, there's a strange feeling he associated with the shifting tides of the Immaterium, not quite a scent or a sound but almost. Nothing he could see, though, only something like a smell, briefly close by.
No longer above. That much is certain.
He drops back to the ground without bothering to climb, the impact of his weight in this lesser form easily absorbed by leaves and wet earth, still again for a moment or two before he circles the tree again like a hound seeking a trail. It's much harder to find, almost bafflingly so, but when he catches the not-scent again as he crosses its trail, he reorients neatly on it and spends a moment familiarizing himself with the foreign feeling.
Then follows it, unerringly but with slow caution as he learns, senses strained to catch the faint impressions that weren't really part of the usual suite of experience at all. The only divergence is necessity, he can't move through solid objects without destroying them first.
It's been decades since anything not another primarch taxed his ability to track a target. This is as difficult to get his teeth around as stalking Corax. But oh, the warm pleasure of satisfaction when the trail blooms into the comparatively heavy scent of tears and fabric, faint but concrete, some three or four minutes after Illarion passes.
no subject
It should have worked.
There's nothing, nothing in the primarch's nature that hinted at him being able to track across dimensions. Or -- if not nothing, nothing obvious beyond the least hint of Royalty, of divinity, that clung around the man's edges. Without knowing his domain, though, there was no reason to suspect he could do -- this.
Nevertheless, he has, and the stakes of this idle little game have become that much higher. The shrike stays in the cover he'd chosen -- a thick stand of beech -- for a minute or two, losing his precious lead but giving himself time to think of his next move. He needs to understand what it is the primarch's doing to track him -- whether it's some facility with higher dimensions that would let the man reach into them, or some more subtle sense that might itself be fooled.
Engineering a situation to distinguish between those -- when he's got a minute, maybe, of lead left -- is not doable with current resources.
So he'll have to let himself be caught.
It would sit ill in his stomach if it could -- he doesn't know what the other man's capable of, though the fact they've both been reduced to apparent-human forms might level the playing field. But this little encounter will also be instructive in that sense, and it's unlikely to permanently kill him.
He thinks.
If it does, he'll only be back in Hell where he belongs, and that's not so terrible a fate.
So he waits, still as a corpse, and watches his hunter approach with unblinking eyes.
no subject
But with a clear trail in the dark and his vision perfectly clear in such doom, it's not terribly hard to follow the path through the beechwood on silent bare feet. He knows most things don't have dark-sight as clear as a Nostraman's, never mind his own; he might well be difficult to make out when his target is ... anything but. And if Illarion just stays put long enough, the primarch has no issue whatsoever approaching as directly as the trees allowed for, and grab for the undead alien elf directly. Ideally by the throat, somewhere he can dig his ragged claws into and get a good purchase.
no subject
There. Illarion's still as a spotlit deer as the primarch approaches and grabs for him. It's not fear holding him in place -- not even as that aura of supernatural discomfort rolls over him like a smothering blanket -- but calculation. The instant fingers close around his throat he jerks away, kata of the world, and slips the hold.
Will the hunter recognize what his prey's done?
no subject
Curze doesn't have eyes to see the dark feathered shape Illarion really is, the myriad gleaming golden poisonous eyes across the shrike 's body.
He doesn't need them. He knows the elf is still within reach, every other sense tells him so. .... It really is like trying to perceive Corvus. Sight and sound are insufficient, and it guarantees that the Night Haunter's full attention focuses on his target and nothing else.
The sense of pressure remains against his fingertips, and he shifts a little, like someone who merely missed his first grab only marginally and immediately seeks to adjust.
This time, short dark claws close on void black feathers with the sudden stifling weight of unnatural fear.
updated to add more VIOLINS, cw: grody heartsquish
Kept from fleeing, the shrike's next impulse is to fight. He lashes out with his talons, not for any conventional weak spot -- face, throat -- but for one of his attacker's hearts. Reaches ((around)) intervening ribs and too-thick muscle to grab the beating organ and crush it like an overripe apple, raking rents in the aorta and vena cava as he does.
With an ordinary human, such a wound would be immediately fatal. He's no illusions of such success here -- no illusions that he won't be recognized for what he is and can do, breeching the Veil and endangering his people further. But if this hunter can pinion his ((outself)), that secret's already out -- and if he can stun the primarch long enough to escape...
/fiddling aggressively on a tiny violin in the background
There's a window of escape, and Illarion better make use of it. The deep rents in his blood vessels are already starting to knit closed even as he sinks unsteadily to his knees, wheezing between clenched teeth.
both of them deserve a tiny violin, wretched creatures. cw: minor cannabiblism
Can't let that ruin his escape. He gives an awful, wrenching lung-deep cough before spitting some ichor-spattered lump nearly at the wounded primarch's feet.
Then he runs, swift and tireless as only the undead can be. Back for Woodhurst, back to a place he can hide and lick the blood and tissue off his hand. Poor repayment for the mass and energy he lost in his stupid stunt -- but all he'll get before the aliens descend on him and whisk him away, the poor stressed thing.
they deserve everything they get. Tho illarion a bit less than konrad.
He's already dragging himself back to his feet, but it's uncoordinated with only slowly ebbing agony, and not for the first time the elf has a head start. One he would inevitably erase.
Curze's hunt is destined for failure, with his target unceremoniously snatched from the woods outright, leaving no trail to follow and no prey to flay between the leafless boughs of the beechwood.