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unfinishedlibrary2026-01-23 06:56 pm
libraryassistants) wrote in unfinishedlibrary2026-01-23 06:56 pm
Entry tags:
- arcane: vikor,
- blade runner: kd6-3.7,
- claymore: cassandra the dusteater,
- dead boy detectives: charles rowland,
- devil summoner raidou kuzunoha: raidou k,
- legend of zelda botw: link,
- maidensong magica: claire ryland,
- persona 5: sumire yoshizawa,
- the murderbot diaries: murderbot,
- the wonders of mundus: hikaru aozora,
- the wonders of mundus: siobahn greenwood,
- tortall: hisako godsup,
- warhammer: roboute guilliman,
- ~moonlit rivals
perhaps you have learned it without a book - MOONLIT RIVALS LOG 1
Who: Readers and Actors galore!
What: The Story begins- and so do preparations for the Masquerade!
When: The three days prior to the Masquerade [ooc timeline: 1/23-2/5]
Where: The city of Montica
Content warnings: Please include any warnings in headers!
First Quarter Moon
Now that most of the Editors know what to expect, the draw into the Story is likely more obvious this time. There’s a subtle urge that encourages their feet to turn towards the Stacks; a slight shimmer in the air that thickens the closer they get to the book laying open on an innocuous library cart.
Those who resist the Story’s pull will be drawn in eventually. Whether the compulsion is successful, or whether the Librarian passes by to sweep them in - all Editors will enter, and all will experience the Story’s start together.
(Editors who have gained the skill Ex Media Res will be able to resist the Story’s pull and hang out in the Library. Drop us a note if they’re using this skill!)
In particular, at the hour our Readers arrive, there is a clean-up going on at the centre of town. People are grumbling as they sweep debris from the streets, and those who are familiar with supernaturally-powered fights will recognise this scene for exactly what it is: the aftermath of some powerful entities having had at it. Hang around too long and you may find yourself with a broom or hammer thrust into your hands, the expectation that you’ll help having been made clear.
Those who leave the clean-up will find themselves welcome in the city’s inn, where visitors hover by the windows, chattering excitedly about the fight that had just broken up. Some people think they’re lucky to have seen it - others think they’ll be luckier if they go the next few days without seeing another one.
The inn is warm, full of gossip, and by some marvel still has private rooms available to rent. Readers will find themselves with enough coin in their pocket to afford quite a bit, this time around - but don’t go spending it all at once. Those who are astute will hear the talk of a masquerade going around, and if you want to attend, you’re going to have to dress appropriately.
The city is almost evenly bisected by loyalties, a hard divide running clearly through the centre of the town. Only a small ring in the centre is considered to be neutral territory - though that’s becoming more and more disputed with each passing moon.
To the north, buildings seem to have a fondness for silver. It seems they’ll take any excuse to work the precious metal into everyday items, from cutlery to window fastenings; and some particularly zealous citizens proudly don silver jewellery and pins in their day-to-day wear. In this section of town you will find the dwellings of the old vampire clans, littered with antiquities and casual opulence.
To the south, the people are fond of spices. Garlic flowers pepper garden beds and the dried bulbs hang from doorframes, and there’s hardly a meal cooked without it. Some industrious workers are busy building small moats of flowing water through this half of the city – you’d better mind your step, lest you get in their way. Located amongst these homes are the dens of the werewolf packs, warmly furnished and brimming with life.
No matter where you are in town, whether you’re surrounded by silver or dodging moat diggers, whether it’s day or night or nebulous twilight, there’s one topic that’s on everyone’s lips: the Umbra Masquerade.
It’s a once in a human lifetime event, and the city is abuzz. Some of the elderly may have been once before, in their youth - but likely at an age where they were too young to remember. There are stories about these masquerades, of the favours that can be won and the deals that can be made. More than one wealthy family attributes their successes to parties of the past, and while the werewolves shouldn’t be there – who’s going to stop them?.
Behind the fuss of the market, astute observers will note the broken and boarded-up windows hidden by the bold stalls. Some buildings are outright abandoned, damaged beyond repair. It becomes even more obvious as night falls and the number of stalls thins, the night vendors setting up with wary looks in their eyes.
Right now the market is bustling with vendors sending goods up to the Umbra Clan's mansion. There is a constant stream of traders passing back and forth, hurrying to get their contributions in place before the ball. Regular goods are still for sale, but the busiest stalls are those selling - of all things - masks with varying levels of decoration. They’ve cleverly set up outside of stores selling clothing; beautiful dresses and tailored suits visible through the cracked and dusty windows. Editors will find they have enough local currency to afford something modest. If their tastes skew toward the more extravagant then, well – they better get to work.
The mansion's front doors open to a foyer that is connected to an upstairs level by two grand staircases. A gilded chandelier hangs down between them, casting rainbows across the wooden floors as the sunlight strikes its crystal ornaments.
Those wide, curved staircases lead to a mezzanine that overlooks the ballroom below. Doors to private rooms branch off from here; all of them locked.
During the daylight hours, the mansion sports large windows covered by thick curtains that are drawn firmly shut. Those who try to peer through them will find an additional layer of security in the form of tightly-fastened metal blinds that block any slivers of sunlight from eking through.
On all three days the mansion is crawling with people setting up for the masquerade. Over there, someone’s hanging strings of lights. Over here, a florist is carefully arranging flowers. The kitchen is busy, human cooks overseeing the production of hundreds of canapes – and on the third day, over in the ballroom, are a band of musicians getting prepared for the night.
Security is lax everywhere except the underground floors, where the clan sleeps. The doors that lead to the underground complex are barred from the inside, and human guards keep watch outside of them to redirect any wanderers.
[The info/plotting post can be found here!]
What: The Story begins- and so do preparations for the Masquerade!
When: The three days prior to the Masquerade [ooc timeline: 1/23-2/5]
Where: The city of Montica
Content warnings: Please include any warnings in headers!
First Quarter Moon
Now that most of the Editors know what to expect, the draw into the Story is likely more obvious this time. There’s a subtle urge that encourages their feet to turn towards the Stacks; a slight shimmer in the air that thickens the closer they get to the book laying open on an innocuous library cart.
Those who resist the Story’s pull will be drawn in eventually. Whether the compulsion is successful, or whether the Librarian passes by to sweep them in - all Editors will enter, and all will experience the Story’s start together.
(Editors who have gained the skill Ex Media Res will be able to resist the Story’s pull and hang out in the Library. Drop us a note if they’re using this skill!)
Our Beginning
The Story begins as night makes its transition to morning. Montica is a city that never sleeps, and some Editors may find themselves taken aback at how the absence of sunlight has done nothing to deter the nightlife.In particular, at the hour our Readers arrive, there is a clean-up going on at the centre of town. People are grumbling as they sweep debris from the streets, and those who are familiar with supernaturally-powered fights will recognise this scene for exactly what it is: the aftermath of some powerful entities having had at it. Hang around too long and you may find yourself with a broom or hammer thrust into your hands, the expectation that you’ll help having been made clear.
Those who leave the clean-up will find themselves welcome in the city’s inn, where visitors hover by the windows, chattering excitedly about the fight that had just broken up. Some people think they’re lucky to have seen it - others think they’ll be luckier if they go the next few days without seeing another one.
The inn is warm, full of gossip, and by some marvel still has private rooms available to rent. Readers will find themselves with enough coin in their pocket to afford quite a bit, this time around - but don’t go spending it all at once. Those who are astute will hear the talk of a masquerade going around, and if you want to attend, you’re going to have to dress appropriately.
Welcome to Montica
Montica itself is a city built from stone, with the buildings packed closely together along cobblestone streets. Flowering vines creep along trellises, their gentle fragrance perfuming the air. The sky is clear and smog-free, the water flows cleanly, and a sense of magic drifts comfortably in the breeze.The city is almost evenly bisected by loyalties, a hard divide running clearly through the centre of the town. Only a small ring in the centre is considered to be neutral territory - though that’s becoming more and more disputed with each passing moon.
To the north, buildings seem to have a fondness for silver. It seems they’ll take any excuse to work the precious metal into everyday items, from cutlery to window fastenings; and some particularly zealous citizens proudly don silver jewellery and pins in their day-to-day wear. In this section of town you will find the dwellings of the old vampire clans, littered with antiquities and casual opulence.
To the south, the people are fond of spices. Garlic flowers pepper garden beds and the dried bulbs hang from doorframes, and there’s hardly a meal cooked without it. Some industrious workers are busy building small moats of flowing water through this half of the city – you’d better mind your step, lest you get in their way. Located amongst these homes are the dens of the werewolf packs, warmly furnished and brimming with life.
No matter where you are in town, whether you’re surrounded by silver or dodging moat diggers, whether it’s day or night or nebulous twilight, there’s one topic that’s on everyone’s lips: the Umbra Masquerade.
It’s a once in a human lifetime event, and the city is abuzz. Some of the elderly may have been once before, in their youth - but likely at an age where they were too young to remember. There are stories about these masquerades, of the favours that can be won and the deals that can be made. More than one wealthy family attributes their successes to parties of the past, and while the werewolves shouldn’t be there – who’s going to stop them?.
The Market
At the centre of the city are Montica’s most dreary buildings. Markets are held here during the day, bright banners and exuberant stallholders calling out their wares. People of all kinds shop here, and it’s the best place to find quality goods. Some patrons give each-other hearty side-eyes, some sneer and mutter insults under their breath - but by and large, this a neutral zone, and the regular citizens treat it as such.Behind the fuss of the market, astute observers will note the broken and boarded-up windows hidden by the bold stalls. Some buildings are outright abandoned, damaged beyond repair. It becomes even more obvious as night falls and the number of stalls thins, the night vendors setting up with wary looks in their eyes.
Right now the market is bustling with vendors sending goods up to the Umbra Clan's mansion. There is a constant stream of traders passing back and forth, hurrying to get their contributions in place before the ball. Regular goods are still for sale, but the busiest stalls are those selling - of all things - masks with varying levels of decoration. They’ve cleverly set up outside of stores selling clothing; beautiful dresses and tailored suits visible through the cracked and dusty windows. Editors will find they have enough local currency to afford something modest. If their tastes skew toward the more extravagant then, well – they better get to work.
The Umbra Mansion
The sprawling building stands tall, overlooking the city of Montica. Vines budding with fragrant flowers grow up the sides of the building, curling around windowsills and balconies in a curated fashion. A large hedge maze sits at the rear of the mansion, behind the grand ballroom; and the gardeners are in top form today, brandishing tools at anyone who looks like they're about to enter it. It's one of many things being tidied up and decorated for the ball, so you'd better not get in their way.The mansion's front doors open to a foyer that is connected to an upstairs level by two grand staircases. A gilded chandelier hangs down between them, casting rainbows across the wooden floors as the sunlight strikes its crystal ornaments.
Those wide, curved staircases lead to a mezzanine that overlooks the ballroom below. Doors to private rooms branch off from here; all of them locked.
During the daylight hours, the mansion sports large windows covered by thick curtains that are drawn firmly shut. Those who try to peer through them will find an additional layer of security in the form of tightly-fastened metal blinds that block any slivers of sunlight from eking through.
On all three days the mansion is crawling with people setting up for the masquerade. Over there, someone’s hanging strings of lights. Over here, a florist is carefully arranging flowers. The kitchen is busy, human cooks overseeing the production of hundreds of canapes – and on the third day, over in the ballroom, are a band of musicians getting prepared for the night.
Security is lax everywhere except the underground floors, where the clan sleeps. The doors that lead to the underground complex are barred from the inside, and human guards keep watch outside of them to redirect any wanderers.
[The info/plotting post can be found here!]
no subject
There are a lot of things important going on here in this city. The need to see the story done, one way or another. Making sure his fellow Editors remained mostly intact in the doing, and more. But paramount was seeing to his own brothers. There was only one he despised, and Corax was far away. The ones here he could tolerate or genuinely cared for in varying degrees, and the crippling risk of being an Actor had been revealed during the last Story; any of his brothers being Actors here meant they too, or again, would be in danger.
Sometimes 'good stories' meant characters died.
And if these ones did, he'd make absolutely certain the ones who struck would live as long as he could arrange for while making them suffer every moment of it. And then everyone who knew those fools. And those who knew them, until nothing remained. A bleak and horrific ending to a story ...but it would be an ending.
"Is that so." It's soft, gently said, as if nothing at all were under imminent threat. "Which ones, I wonder. Describe to me your Lord and his son. Speak the truth and clearly, as you know it, and I will remember this in your favor."
no subject
"I don't need favor," she says with as much dignity as she can muster. "I need my patron and his children to remain alive. While they are home I can protect them, but they leave home and outside of it I am... I am soulcracked, and there are times when I can't tell if I'm seeing the present or the future, or my vision is obscured."
This isn't a secret, but it's a painful admission. 'Cracked' also is in fact another synonym for 'insane', with associations of irreparable damage. Despite all the years and all the progress she's made, Jadis knows she still can't live on her own or return to her old life.
From that emotionally painful admission to another. "The child is Sigwulf Guildulf. He's my lord's secondborn child, not his heir. He's..." Sigwulf is an amalgam of everything he's been since she met him when he was eleven, with a gargantuan sad creature half obscured in the background. Jadis presses three fingers between her eyebrows and rubs hard against her skull, breathing harder like she's trying to haul something heavy over a threshhold. She has a suspicion that the night heron is going to move closer on her when she's not looking at him but she can't help it. "...blood. And. White feathers. S..."
Speaking of blood, some delicate structure or another in her nose has burst, and as Jadis tries to say a name she's forced herself not to think blood starts to make its way down over her upper lip, into her mouth.
no subject
'Soulcracked' isn't a term he's heard, but he knows what she speaks of a breath later.
He experienced it himself every time the visions became too overwhelming for him to throttle down and dismiss. Would she too be left frothing and helpless on the ground?
No. It seems not. The effect is more what he expects of psykers, when the sharp smell of fresh blood overrides the sewage-stink of the tunnels below the city, and he steps close enough to reach for the hand rubbing at her skull and pull it away with careful, precise gentleness. If he can catch her, his touch is exactly as cold as one would expect of the undead vampires. "I know this confusion of present and future, and I know whom you speak of," the pale giant says, little more than a whisper in the dark. "An angel true, to hear some speak. Best beloved, the brightest of us all. Be careful. You bleed."
Curze is used to the feeling of hunger gnawing at the inside of his ribs. It's been a constant companion since childhood, and he no longer thinks much of it save the smell of blood is terribly tempting, above and beyond what few favorite dishes his equerry had managed to devise to please him.
No wonder the Blood Angels savored it.
no subject
Blood is in her teeth as she says, "The outsiders come to town in the first act. If I die it's going to be at the climax, surrounded by fire and flood."
Maybe. It's written in water, not set in stone, but ripples make patterns. For just that one instant Jadis can see a structure to things, and then every detail sinks away like a fish submerging. She shakes her head. She'd intended to make the point You won't kill me now, I'm too useful but, sure, higher melodrama, maybe kicked off by the unsettling but intriguing thought that she has something in common with the night heron. Regardless, she does press a handkerchief to her nose and tilt her head back to stem the flow.
"...he thinks he's a grown man now but he's like a child rebelling against what his father wants," she says of Sigwulf, through the fabric. Relieved that she doesn't have to talk more about this other self. "Including animosity towards vampires. I half-raised him and he's awkward, and prideful, and sweet. There is less danger to him than to my lord."
no subject
There's only ever one that he sees. "May it console you to know that part of you will live on, beyond this petty little city and its pointless conflicts." This is only a story, designed for the dramatic and not the practical, some idiot author's idea of what makes an exciting tale.
"And your lord? Two options, I think. A man of intelligence and calculation but somewhat lacking in open warmth, fearing it weakness. Or one of considerable knowledge and sorcery, and the arrogance to match." Slowly he lets go; she's got the nosebleed handled, and if he's very lucky she won't begin bleeding from the eyes and ears as well. "One is easier to contend with than the other."
no subject
This is a terrible thing to discover about herself. Most vampires, for all that they'd claim otherwise, seem very human to her. She's never thought... Jadis can still feel his fingers on his skin for several seconds after he releases her, and knows that this is a dead end, she has to put it aside
Polaris, she mouths, invoking that centering, and feels like she's climbing up out of a pool of water. Right. The real world. The things he just said. Can't really go back to addressing the first thing now, it has to be the second. It doesn't escape her that by describing two types, he's put her in a position where she doesn't have to cudgel herself into dredging up information that her body doesn't want her to have.
"I don't know who or where the cotinga - I mean, the second man is. We'll meet," she says flatly. "That's all I know about him. But the first sounds much like my lord Roberte. He... when I broke myself open, I was useless. The world made no sense. I couldn't walk, I had to be fed by hand, I wept and spoke to the air. My companions deserted me when they understood that this was just me now. My lord saw me and realized I would one day be of use. So: I owe him, and his family."
Jadis probably doesn't need to say all this, could just stop with that sounds like my lord. Maybe it's that talk of knowing.
no subject
He would have to find out, when this miserable little story ended, if this is what Sanguinius felt every day. The acute awareness of warm blood nearby, the nagging persistent thirst that he COULD ignore, but not as easily as the pangs of hunger. The temptation is significant just to reach down and bite..
"Well. I will have to see to investigating my brothers' current lives so I will know who to avoid harm to. And this other pup, I suppose." Whoever the twin was. It would earn him no favors to butcher one and leave the others alive, he knew enough of family bonds for that. "I wonder. Erasure of the opponent also would nicely bring peace as well, the Edwards of this place.. the vampires." Like himself! But much smaller. "Tell me of them. Do they find allium as foul as I do?"
no subject
Jadis barely keeps herself from rubbing the shoulder the night heron pressed with that massive icy hand. Touch is the most present and reliable of her senses. She doesn't remember Lord Roberte discovering her or what he'd said, but she thinks he must have been alone because he'd put hands on her and bodily picked her up himself. If he'd carried her home like a burden and not something precious, still he'd carried her, and she had felt the press of his arms and known with a pathetic, abject gratitude that she would be safe. Part of her is still there, looking ahead. Conscious though Jadis is of the mercenary nature of his intervention and her own dependency, she does still care for Roberte Guildulf.
"He's done well for himself having a pet mystic, anyway," she says faintly, and "Don't call him that if you see him. Please. I don't know if he remembers I called him that sometimes, but no one else does. The elder twin is Sigrid. She's the heir, and the favored child. I can see... someone else in her, but I really only know her as a Guildulf." She'd mention the wings but isn't sure she'll be able to without bleeding some more, and Jadis's higher functions at least can see that that would be a bad idea.
The night heron's proposed something would get most of the werewolf families salivating, and Jadis certainly does favor werewolves overall, but she also knows what a hole the erasure of the vampires would make in Montica. The majority of them don't deserve that, either, leeches or not. Earnestly she says, "There are two great players among them. The gray-laurie is the son? of their Lord of Shadows. He will meet Sigrid, soon. And there's someone I don't know. A... juggler, I think? She'll be important but... I've stayed out of the vampire courts. They do all struggle with garlic, and running water."
She's got some distant pinging about onions being vile which does not seem to be relevant. Vampires probably don't like onions but it can't be as pronounced an effect.
no subject
Torment of a sort. He won't actually harm them without it being absolutely necessary, and he can get out of most situations that are 'necessary' before they escalate. "Sigrid the heir and the son of shadows. So this is where Bella and Edward get to? I suppose I will have to keep tabs on them as well then." Not that he knows a damn thing about relationships, but he will .. do his best to remove obstacles. "Though we are still missing our Jacob! Who is partial to one or the other, and would interfere with a friendship, or more, between these two scions of opposing houses?" There's a Story here and there will be beats that need to be followed.
But now he has key players. And more importantly, the ones relevant to him. Thankfully Sanguinius isn't the heir to either house.
Struggling with garlic is sensible. But running water gives a moment's pause, and he glances back into the dark and gloom. Sewers had plenty of running water in them.. "I hadn't noticed that last one. Interesting."
no subject
Those names mean nothing to her. Amalia is the final starring role, but she's certainly not against comingling between sides. It's not Amalia's idea to be betrothed to Sigrid, either.
"My lord would. He's done a great deal to make the family chief among the werewolves. Our counterparts, and those who are neutral, and wolves who collude with the bloodsuckers, he despises them." Jadis has little personal animosity towards vampires but she's lived in the Guildulf household for a decade and picked up the vocabulary of disdain. "He wants... I don't know if he's told anyone yet, but he wants to marry Sigrid off to a rival we've deposed. She's never really balked him before, it's Sigwulf who's the disappointment. My lord would never... he wouldn't..." She flinches, eyes flickering after faint impressions, and shakes them off, and decides not to say what he'd never.
She follows the night heron's gaze when he looks back, though of course she sees nothing.
"Maybe you are just special," she suggests, deadpan. "It's... common, anyway. All the moats and canals are to make things harder for them."
no subject
It seemed that way, in Twilight and associated 'reading'. "So long as peace is achieved the method to reach it is irrelevant," he sighs. "Your Lord may have the right of it. I fear I have heard very little of the predation of the wolf-kind versus humanity, and yet the very aberrant being of a vampire requires it. If one must be excised the choice is obvious." And it's not the parasites, even if he currently is one.
The moat thing is filed away as interesting but broadly irrelevant. Perhaps maintaining his proper nature as a primarch interfered with it. "Well. If nothing else, other weaknesses are best to be known. Garlic. Onions, perhaps, they are of the same family. Running water. The hateful daystar, of course. What else?"
no subject
She has forced herself into grasping the names of her patron and the children and is able to just use them in conversation like a normal person, but that took a lot of time and effort and she just hasn't made it for most others.
Jadis shakes her head stubbornly. "Mostly vampires feed by arrangement and the humans they feed from are paid for the service. Some still prey on people, now and then, but if it was common humans wouldn't tolerate them. A werewolf attack is more damaging but those are very rare these days for the same reason. Young werewolves are denned until they settle and have control over themselves." Not that a youth who's lost in the night music is out to hunt humans, with a few very regrettable exceptions, but they're not afraid of man the way true, wild-raised wolves are. "If united humans can overthrow both. It's happened in other cities."
The hateful daystar! Jadis's breath hitches in a surprised near-laugh. She's never heard that term and now she's going to have to adopt it, thanks. "Holy symbols, sometimes. When they work they are very effective. And, it isn't difficult to ward a building such that a vampire can't enter without permission."
no subject
The low sound of derision he makes at holy symbols isn't elaborated on. If belief fueled their effectiveness, that's another thing that won't do a thing to him. The icons of false gods were meaningless! "Humans will 'tolerate' quite a bit if they fear the alternative. Rare is it that a cowed population raised to believe their station is appropriate and expected, choose to rise up. It's been generations here, hasn't it?"
In the end, not particularly important. Ideally things won't need to go the route of extermination; if that was it he could handle it alone. But that wouldn't make an interesting ~story~. "I would like to test such wards at some point, I think. For curiosity's sake."
no subject
Often she feels her condition is worth it. Her alchemy, her medicine-making, her magic are all so much greater now than before she became soulcracked. The challenges she's been able to rise to, the sense of all the world being an interconnected web which she can follow link to link, the satisfaction of hidden knowledge and of sharing it, the way that sometimes if she finds some limit and coaxes at it just so it retreats further from her. Those are amazing.
But as good as she's become at sorting things out there's still names, and what things look like, and her trouble with the moment and navigating. These wouldn't be so bad if people didn't have to know and compensate for them.
Montica isn't 'cowed', to her thinking. "Some of it is that the two factions are about easily matched, that they both have more power over the population. Neither wants humans to help their enemy cast them down so they both try to be liked and dependable. Vampires pay better. Werewolves are closer to human."
"'Curiosity'. I'm the strongest mystic in the city, so if you can bypass something I ward, well," she says with a sigh. "I can set something up. Not tonight though."