THE CROSSING #2

[thecrossingmods]

THE CROSSING #2

It's that time again.

For more detail on the particulars of the event, be sure to refer to our info and planning post!

always keep moving

— CLOUDS ON THE HORIZON

The Desert is sprawling. If you've ever gotten turned around in the rolling dunes, it may have once felt endless. But in the weeks and days before the descent of The Crossing, something appears on the horizon: first a dark smudge of storm clouds, not unlike the others that have rolled through before, then growing — wider, darker, and more threatening.

You feel it, too. For some of you the feeling is new; for others it's a reminder of a trial you've been through before. It's a weight in your body, a solidity of your self, a vulnerability to whatever is approaching.

The storm overtakes the oasis. As the first drops of rain begin to fall, The Ferryman speaks in your mind.

It's time. Those who are prepared to pay the toll are instructed to gather on the bank of The River. As for the rest of you... we hope you have a plan.

taking refuge

— THE RIVER OF MUD

The storm hits hard and fast. Even as you gather around The Ferryman, the rain grows from spitting droplets to a desert monsoon. The Ferryman's protection only goes so far: even if you're promised safety from danger, you'll still have to cope with the cold, the wind, and the water.

As before, The Lantern's Light grows dark. As before, The Ferryman gathers memories one by one, consolidated into a mote of light in their palm that becomes the new center point for the growing temporary bubble of safety. But this time— what it was too dark to notice in the Cavern before— you realize that The Ferryman themselves is changing, too. Their form fades as the light in their hands grows, becoming as fuzzy and insubstantial as mist... not unlike the wraiths, outside of The Crossing.

The sparkling white salt flat before you begins to melt and grow murky, exposing the sticky, grasping mud beneath. The Ferryman glides out over the roiling muck of The River, and so do you, your steps as light as if there were still a crust of salt to separate you from the mud before.

You must keep moving, though. Linger too long, and you'll start to sink... and the mud might not let go, this time.

— A HAVEN FROM THE WANTS AND ILLS OF LIFE

The journey is arduous, and the storm is unrelenting. The Ferryman, unfamiliar as they might be in this form, leads confidently through the blur of lightning, wind, and rain. As before, the mote of light created from your memories follows in their footsteps, illuminating the path to follow along the wide expanse of The River.

Even with The Ferryman's protection, it is exhausting work. It's as mentally taxing as it is physically draining. As such, when the path forward begins to shudder and shift, it may come as a reprieve. The wall of wind and rain finally breaks, the Desert around you replaced by... somewhere else. A place you may recognize, or may not.

Whatever stress or fear you may have been feeling from your journey wanes, replaced by feelings of calm, peace, or joy. If the place you are in is unfamiliar, the feelings are muted, as if they don't quite belong to you... but surely this is better than returning to the monsoon? Perhaps you can rest a while. Play a game, recover in shelter, or take a meditative walk through a maze. What's a few minutes, anyway? Time hardly means anything anymore.

Just don't forget: if you linger too long in any one place, the mud of The River will start to suck you down. It's best to stay alert— and to keep an eye on those traveling with you, as well.

storm chasers

— SWEPT AWAY

The Desert isn't designed to weather a storm like this one. Beyond the pounding rain and cracking lightning, those of you who have decided to travel without The Ferryman must also navigate the environment itself. Flash floods sweep through lower-lying places in the dunes, where the sand isn't able to absorb water quickly enough. Creatures that may have been docile before are now panicked, and might impede your progress, or even lash out themselves.

And, of course, there are the wraiths.

They're easier to spot this time around, across the rolling dunes. It's easier to make out just how much they've changed as well: the claws, the teeth, the exaggerated proportions... and the unmistakable pain and fury in every movement, in every shriek and wail.

You are vulnerable to any and all injury during this time, whether from the wraiths, the wildlife, or the elements. As long as you follow your gut, you'll know where to go — but we hope you have a strategy, all the same.

— AN EYE IN THE STORM

At least in the Cavern, you had cover. Nooks and crannies, branching tunnels, rocky outcroppings... But out here, beneath the wide-open sky of the Desert, there's very little in terms of shelter. The odd plateau, or cave entrance, or inexplicable feature might grant you some reprieve, but there's always more sand to cross in-between.

On occasion, however, you may spot a strange sort of wraith watching you at a distance. Some of you may even recognize it: an eerie, dissembling creature that some have dubbed the Smart Wraith. Its form, like the others, has solidified into something grotesque and painful, as if its body has been plucked like clay by a particularly spiteful child. Unlike the others, though, it does not attack, or even approach. It simply watches, as it always have.

If you have the presence of mind to notice, however, you may find that there are occasional reprieves from wraith attacks, especially across longer stretches of dunes. They're brief, but often crucially timed (such as when someone is significantly injured, or when a flood has just rolled through), and always correspond to a moment when The Wraith can be found watching from some far-flung vantage point.

It's odd, certainly. But do you have the luxury of looking a gift horse in the mouth?

stormbreak

— CLEARING SKIES

Eventually, the storm calms. Your body lightens. The atmosphere realigns.

The Crossing ends.

The thick, sucking mud of The River has become shallow and waterlogged. It's easy to wade through now, if a touch... unpleasant. Fibrous plants and reeds line the sloped banks, inexplicably dotted with bright orange flowers. Light is low, though the sky has cleared, as if wherever you are now lingers in perpetual dusk.

If you were traveling with The Ferryman, the mirages that dogged your journey finally fade and stay gone. If you were traveling on your own, any wounds you sustained heal rapidly on their own. As before, the healing is natural, but on fast-forward, and thus may not always resolve perfectly.

For both groups, memories bleed away from you - perhaps literally, perhaps not. Anything you found in the Desert, unless given to you by The Ferryman, is gone from your pockets.

When you look again, The Ferryman appears just the same as they were before The Crossing began. Let's take a break, they say. It's been a long journey.

It certainly has.

---

Image credits: 1, 2 + OMORI'S STORY, and stock imagery unless otherwise noted

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Comments

[hasapoint]

waiting in the rain
[Any apprehension on Need's part is masked behind focus and bright-eyed interest, even eagerness. No sense in flinching away from this, and - she reminds herself - she does want to see what happens next. She's brought out a green-and-tan cloak with a winglike pattern and pulled it close around her body, though the light fabric tries to whip this way and that in the wind. She walks restlessly about, looking into the faces of the people showing up at the River's edge.]

Try to stay close. It's going to be hard to tell if anyone's lagging.

[or, if she thinks they're not going to Cross with the group:]

Well. Good luck. 'Least it's not a sandstorm, eh?

the gryphons' lair
[This place is in the middle of a ruin. Buildings made of some dark stonelike material were leveled and their pieces scattered and half-melted in places by some terrible force, a long time ago. The ruins extend to mingle with old forest and swamp some ways from here, but here the dark pavement is still mostly intact and so the only living plants are weeds and grass. Some industrious and quite large souls have hauled stone and wood and living vine to make a simple, massive house, with a rough rawhide 'door' pinned open. There are three rooms, each quite substantial, whose 'furniture' is stone blocks set up like a few low tables or benches, and nests about the size of a king bed, made from sweet-smelling woven grass. There are also feathers, buff and banded in brown and bronze, ranging from bits of fluff to hand-sized contour feathers to a few primaries up to four feet long, scattered about outside or incorporated in the grass inside.

As for how it feels, the ways Need experienced the world as a sword are strange. She relied on the senses and emotions of the people around her, often several people at the same time. In this memory there were seven living adults present but thankfully for legibility an onlooker not used to that kind of perception will only be able to pick up on two 'tracks'. Mostly one. Need's emotions are hard to follow in comparison to the brighter, stronger impressions of someone else. Some people might only get her side - a distant relief and a sense of temporary reprieve, annoyance, a swell of warmth and care for something young and small and very brave.

Others pick up on some echo of total, full-bodied exhaustion, to the point where it might be a good idea to sit or lean on something. Then, the touch of Need's mind - old enough to be different and distant, all but alien, but cynical and calculating and very strong, carefully controlled to cause no pain as it grips and slides like a sharp knife into mind and memories. Then the remote cynicism dissolves, like a sigh, like honey in tea, into... an ache. Compassion, and then more than compassion, a feeling of concern and care and love, truly, despite everything. Being gathered unto her and enveloped in her wings, sheltered like a child for several long moments as strength and vigor return.

Need lets out a long breath.]
...He's a good boy.

after the rain
[Need wades through the watery mud, making a headcount and looking about at the changed scenery. She's tired, but not as much as after the last Crossing, it's not painful to keep going. At some point she might pause and pull off her coif - her hairline is starting to recede - to wring it out, squeeze some of the rainwater out of her gray hair, and tie it back. She raises her eyebrows at anyone she catches looking.]
So you made it. Congratulations.

wildcard
[Something else? She'll try to ride herd again and find stragglers, but it's harder to find them in this weather.]

the gryphons' lair

[blindluck]

[This Crossing is very interesting, moreso than the last one. He can focus a lot more clearly this time, even if Makoto's absence weighs heavily in the back of his mind. Forest, swamp, and ruins--it's a little like he walked into a fantasy novel. There's the tug of two emotional tracks here; Nagito can nudge them aside, at first. He got some practice in earlier helping the Ferryman. Nagito reaches to pick up one of the four-feet wings. He's about to ask around to see whose memory this is and ask about the creature when the emotional atmosphere here stops him.

Compassion, which he almost doesn't recognize. Love, which he touches he's handling fire. Acceptance of what he is, which--

Nagito wraps his arms around himself, laughing uneasily.] Ah, emotions like these are almost too much. [They're not his, and not for him. They never could be.]

[hasapoint]

[it's hard to find footprints here but they would be very interesting! some of the menhirs left from sturdier buildings, the tallest ten or fifteen feet high, have fresh scratches around the tops.

Need feels out of place here, like this. Otherwise her strongest emotion is a faint regret, the distant sting of loss at giving this moment up. She frowns at Nagito, unable to clearly sort out what it means that he's hugging himself and laughing. How erratic is he likely to be?]

You look like you're about to tip over. Sit down for a minute.

[blindluck]

[Nagito sits, but it's more like he simply lets his legs buckle and drops where he's standing. He's still gripping the sleeves of his hoodie, his expression a smile that can't escape melancholy, but compared to the last Crossing he's really very calm. It could be normal, low nervous laughter and not the start of a manic episode.]

What is this, anyway? [It's not really clear which "this" he's referring to. The emotions. The source of them. The cause of them.]

[hasapoint]

[Hmm. 'What do you think it is', she wants to ask, but that will sound overly defensive. She's also not sure which 'this' he means, but there's a general answer that fits most of the possibilities.]

A piece of me, and of... one of my friends.

[There's a split second of hesitation when she says that. Need has few friends. Then she does just ask:]

What does it seem like to you?

the gryphon's lair

[witnessvelama]

[The moment Celehar steps into the space in the Courtyard he stops, nearly swaying. On instinct, he murmurs a prayer - the prayer of compassion for the dead, the same one he murmurs before reaching out to speak with the dead in his Calling. It is the only lens through which he has to consider the strange feeling of another mind being brushed by his own, though he can immediately feel the difference.

'The soul is an onion,' he'd told Othalo Tomasaran, as an imperfect analogy, and it's true, in a sense - the soul of the dead, such as it is, is a contained thing, the pieces of which can only be left in a singular state. Or perhaps a children's puzzle-toy, one where the pieces might go missing. Touching these minds is like immersing oneself into a river, and Celehar has to repeat the prayer a second time, to quiet the fear that he will immerse himself too deeply, the way he has long since learned not to with the dead.

Perhaps it's his own habitual exhaustion that cleaves Celehar to one mind in particular, the exhaustion striking him with enough strength that he finds a fragment of the dark stone rubble to settle onto.]

[hasapoint]

[For all that Need feels strange to have a human form in this place, in certain ways she rather suits it. It's rough and half-wild, clearly constructed with intent and intelligence but not the sort of form and sophistication of materials inherent to many of the other memory-pockets. The gryphons, though absent, are also so big, fully as tall as a man on horseback, that against the backdrop of a house they've built her height and bulk seem quite a bit less.

She's immediately interested in Celehar's mantra. The words are beautiful, clearly something ritual. Why is he saying them now? He looks, frankly, terrible.

Gracious hosts that they are, the gryphons positioned this particular rubble to serve as a bench for their usual human visitor, so it's a good size and shape to sit on, the sparse grass flattened near it, where Treyvan or Hydona would lounge sociably close. Need steps onto that space, still dripping rainwater, and goes to sit besides him, a few feet away on the end of the 'bench'.]

Are you doing all right?

[witnessvelama]

[Beautiful as the words are, they're not entirely appropriate for the situation, focusing as they are on the darkness and stillness of death, of compassion and loss. Perhaps, in a morbid sense, it's more a prayer for himself. They are, after all, the dead here.

The second repetition finishes, and Celehar looks up, even as he braces himself against the bone-deep tiredness with elbows against his knees. He's still dripping water from his washed-out hair, and he's probably lost a hairpin or two in the deluge - not to mention the soaked state of his coat. This will surely be the ruin of the silk, but he's had plenty of the walk to rue that fact already.]

The dead are not so...

[So what? Whatever word Celehar might have followed that with, they're lost when the air is punched out of his lungs by the intrusion of another presence into his thoughts. He's always pale, but now as the blood drains from his face he's practically ghostlike, as his mind brushes up against this echo of a being so ancient she has forgotten so much of what it was like to be living. There is no malevolence, no twisted hunger for cruelty, but the shock of it is nevertheless like the storm has opened up over him once more.]

[hasapoint]

[It's not that Need doesn't feel the replay of emotion going on. She feels, in fact, her own track and the seven others of the memory, some mere background presence, some clear and strong. It's just that she can... not even work around it. This is part of how things have been for her, even when she was alive, though after her death she learned to process more of it. It gave her so much more insight on the people around her, was an excellent basis for her continuous effort to remember that the living are important. How bittersweet it is to have a taste of it again, for just a moment.

So she can guess at why Celehar cuts himself off in sudden fear, and suppresses a sigh. This threatens to lead to another round of 'you're an abomination'. Maybe she can just refuse to engage.]

Easy there. Breathe. It was several years ago. It will pass.

[If she touches him, will he take it as comfort, or an attack? Celehar seemed to respond well when she touched him in the last Crossing, but he knew less about her then. How can people stand not knowing these things? After a pause, she reaches to rest her fingertips on the sodden back of his coat, ready to withdraw and pretend nothing happened if he flinches, or press her palm if he doesn't.]

Waiting in the Rain

[spaghettimonster]

[The skeleton's still in his usual outfit, having not yet made a point of asking for anything but the phone. He does have the paper and sticker tucked away with a few interesting rocks, but those are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the main thing that's different is the uneasy expression covering his skull.]

Did... anyone... lag behind, before?

[The toll is supposed to make the trek safe from the suddenly irritable wraiths, is his understanding. He assumed that meant that the group would be working together to stay together, and that The Ferryman would be looking out for them in that regard. If that's not the case, he's starting to have even more qualms about this intentionally giving up a memory thing.]

[hasapoint]

Almost. One of our number fell over and couldn't get back up. I went back and got them to their feet.

[this is an extremely dignity-sparing way of saying that Celehar became overwhelmed and collapsed, unable to rise, and she'd gone after him and bodily carried him back towards the light as he trembled and cried out. Fortunately, some of his strength had returned as hers waned with the effort.]

I don't know what happens if someone lags too far, but it's better not to find out first hand.

[spaghettimonster]

What a terrible time for a nap?

[Is imagining a sudden nap a more dignified interpretation of the event than stumbling and being too dazed to continue? Maybe, maybe not... But seeing as the euphemistic meaning of fell over doesn't - surely can't - apply, he might as well make a joke of it.]

I guess paying a double toll, to take that train someone was talking about, would be too easy...

[hasapoint]

[she cracks a smile.]

That's exactly what I said.

Everyone's getting to the other side one way or another, I'd hope.

Gryphon’s Lair

[solitarynote]

[Sunny looks around the lair with a wide gaze. If he didn’t know any better, this almost looked like the stage for a boss battle…

Thankfully, they wouldn’t be doing any fighting. (At least he hoped not.)

Instead, he relaxes when they enter the house, and the muted emotions within take time for him to untangle. Emotions, showing them, were always something that didn’t come as naturally to Sunny as most others.

It’s only when he overhears Need’s somewhat fond statement that it clicks.]

Someone… you knew…?

[hasapoint]

[A boss battle did in fact happen out here a day or so after this memory, but it was not against the gryphons.

Inside, the 'windows' are translucent panels in the high ceiling that let filtered sunlight in. When the gryphons needed more light - they've since left their house to someone else and moved elsewhere - they used magic, she knows.]

A friend. [she doesn't have a lot of those.] This is where we met properly. His name is Darkwind.

[solitarynote]

[‘Darkwind’… that certainly was a unique name. And sounded like a cool boss title.

Not that Sunny thought Need would fight a friend, except for practice.

Sunny liked the calmness of this place. It had a… stillness. Even if sometimes it echoed with his own nervous anticipation (normally places this open had some sort of fight, even if he couldn’t see an enemy. But… it was supposed to be safe, right? That was the point of their stops on the journey so far.)]

Human…? [The name didn’t sound like a human name, but Sunny wasn’t one to judge. He liked when Need talked though, a certainty and an old wisdom to the tone of her words. He wanted to hear more.]

[hasapoint]

Close.

[She considers.]

More human than an elf is, I'd say. His people, the Tayledras - the Hawkbrothers - have lived two millennia in an environment that warps life. They're mostly insulated against that but by now there are a lot of things that set them apart from other humans. Even from their cousins, who they split off from.

[Maybe that's too much at once for Sunny. It's hard to tell what goes on in his head.]

Waiting in the Rain

[toilet_bound]

Right~? It’s just a bit of water!

[Hanako says this with a bright smile as his uniform is absolutely drenched. One hand is holding his hat to his head so that it doesn’t fly off in the downpour.

He isn’t lying or anything - it’s just been a few decades since he’s felt this much rain pelting him.]

I’d think a sandstorm is much more perilous! And dusty!

[hasapoint]

Just a bit. And windy.

[Need's clothing comes in several layers and they're not all soaked through, but it's inevitable, she thinks with resignation.]

Sandstorm would hurt more, too. And we can be hurt like this, at this time.

[She's not sure if he's really unaware that there's danger or just playing up that cheer. Need's not going to try to stop him, but it's important to know these things before getting into them.]

[toilet_bound]

[Certainly, with that many layers on, it would be a heavy burden. He doesn’t envy Need that, even as his school uniform is drenched through.]

So I’ve been told. I’m more surprised by… well, it’s been a while since I’ve felt almost alive.

[There is a tempering to that cheer as he thought, his gaze instinctively searching for Yashiro in the gathered crowd.]

[hasapoint]

Yep. Last time, I sneezed. It shocked me.

[Need says it in a casual deadpan, wondering if Hanako of all people will get how strange that was. To be breathing so regularly, to react to a twinge of sensation so abruptly. A sneeze is a very strange bit of involuntary behavior if you haven't done it in a long time.]

Now, in the bit of afterlife I'm used to, soul damage means losing memories and suffering emotional dampening and some degree of personality change, if it's serious enough. But we don't bleed.

Here we do, and I have no idea what serious damage means. You'll have to try your hardest not to find out.

The Gryphon's Lair

[perfecttune]

[When Mari steps into this strange place it only cements how different the other's world's were from her own. This cavern might be something shown in a movie or seen through a child's eyes as they played on a playground- something pretend... and yet here... it felt just as real as the others.

She hadn't even realized she had sunken to the ground when the onslaught of different emotions hit her. She wasn't sure how the others were fairing, as she shifted through them before her gaze met Need's as the woman spoke.]

Who?

[The simple word probably wouldn't receive a simple answer after all... but the girl was so overwhelmed by the difference and emotions it was all she could ask.]

[hasapoint]

A friend. This is where we met.

[She doesn't have a lot of those. Need is secretive and only speaks to a very few people. Most of them are afraid of her to various degrees, for various reasons. Which is fine. She doesn't have to be liked or trusted to do her best for someone. Still, of course...

Need eyes Mari. If she had stayed upright, she would have told the girl to sit.]

Are you feeling all right?

[perfecttune]

[A friend... such a simple explanation and yet Mari could hear the depths of emotion in Need's voice. She was glad that the woman had people she held dear... even if the word could mean different things for different people...

Mari blinked, then glanced down at the ground.]

I-I think so? It's just a bit overwhelming...

[She glanced back up at the woman. There was so much that she didn't know about Need.]

Did you two live here?

[It felt like a strange question to ask, and yet, home could also mean different places than for different people. Just because she had a typical home- in her thoughts at least- didn't mean that it matched up with another residents definition of the word.]

[hasapoint]

Deep breaths. Ride it out; it's not you, and it's not now. It will end, and you'll still be here.

[It seems to really affect some people, she muses.]

No. I never stayed in one place or with one person for long. [...by Need's standards, anyway.] This was where a pair of his friends lived, who acted as his parents after his mother died and his father went strange. He didn't live with them but he'd visit almost every day, or they would find him.

[also these friends were enormous gryphons.]