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thecrossinglogs2025-04-19 09:44 am
thecrossingmods) wrote in thecrossinglogs2025-04-19 09:44 am
THE CROSSING #2
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!
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
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 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
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
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
no subject
There's a new piece of information there, though.]
Your siblings?
no subject
At Thara's question, she nods animatedly.]
I have four siblings, two brothers and two sisters. I'm the eldest.
[Having forgotten the last Crossing's toll, she's free of the worry over her family's survival, so her expression is loving and fond.]
I wish you could meet them... but even if we walked to our home, it seems that we won't find any people in these memories.
[After all, the fields are deserted at a time when the peasants would usually be preparing the harvest.]
no subject
[If they met them... Celehar imagines that would be a more noted cause for sorrow than for joy, though he tempers the impulse to say so by biting the inside of his cheek. His usual dour mein leaves much to be desired in a place so happy to remember.]
Thy voice marks thee as fond of them. Were they much apart from thee in age?
I accidentally my thou/thee/thy...
Only in part. My oldest brother, Urklyn, is only a year younger than me! He and I were together all our lives. He grew taller than me before I knew it.
[Her smile takes on a slightly melancholy tinge as she remembers how much they argued when she decided to inherit the Founding Titan from their uncle. Urklyn was terrified to lose her to what they believed to be their ancestors' ghosts... and certainly enough, he did.]
My other brother, Dirk, is fourteen. He reminds me of Sunny... if Sunny had a worse temper.
[She laughs behind her hand.]
He's a good boy, though! He's just at that age where everyone feels angry and misunderstood sometimes. My sisters aren't there quite yet; they're still children. Abel is twelve, and Florian is only ten. She's the most innocent and precious little girl I ever met.
I've done it before too
Young, but not perhaps so young. I was thirteen when I joined the novitiate. [Though he manages to crack a small smile.] And perhaps just as sullen as thine own brother. I had not yet learned to temper my tongue.
[Which certainly makes him different from Sunny.]
♡
Thou were so certain of thy calling so young, then?
[The alternative would be that his elders decided his trajectory for him, and if that was the case, it would explain the sullenness! Even so, it's hard to imagine the elegant, even-tempered prelate as a moody little boy. She wonders what he looked like, back then. Did he already wear his hair long and braided?]
no subject
[Celehar's ears twitch, but he consciously keeps his expression light.]
It worked out for me, as thou might imagine.
no subject
So thy family sent thee to the prelacy without even realising your ability? Are all who can hear the dead considered chosen by Ulis?
no subject
Othalo Tomasaran was a widow, who only learned she could hear the dead after her husband's death, but I was training her to be a Witness vel ama before...
[His expression is complicated, but he still tries to smooth it out. His death left Velhiro in a very complicated situation.]
I was sent in part because my grandparents on my mother's side were quite religious.
no subject
She wants to express her hope that it may have been a relief for his apprentice to come to understand her calling, and that indeed Thara's world was better for his life and work in it, but that's when she realises a change in their surroundings. She knows her family's lands like the back of her hand, yet they've wandered into a part she doesn't recognise... and the heavy, lush late summer has unnoticably given way to autumn, if not already winter - the time after the harvest.]
...
I don't recognise this area.
[There's alertness in her voice, but not quite alarm, her eyes fixed on what looks like a white bowl sitting in the centre of a barren field, the shape of the corn maze that stood there still visible on the barren ground.]
no subject
[The word is a startled sound out of Celehar's mouth, before he clears his throat with a cough, gesturing for Frieda to join him as he steps forward to the edge of the pebble-lined path.]
Ulis works in dreamlike ways, even here. 'Tis the Orshaneise maze.
[He considers the spirals of it, then pauses, looking back into the realms of greenery that once were. He knows all too well the dangers of lingering too long, but he still looks to Frieda and asks,]
Thou art ready to walk on?
no subject
I am. Is this not a cold place to find comfort in?
[Her voice is gentle, but she does wonder. With the field barren and quiet, the place has a contemplative yet severe air about it - which she can't deny suits the prelate.]
no subject
Pilgrimages oft make for odd places. I came here, once, to clear my mind after a long night.
no subject
Did it help?
no subject
[Celehar turns, briefly, to gesture behind them towards a low building at the edge of the fields. Small and unassuming, it hardly looks like a temple - more, in fact, like a building that would fit in Frieda's memory, just as much as his own. They could be standing on any normal farm, not the grounds of any sort of temple.]
no subject
That is good to hear. Do they serve a different god?
[She assumes that the structure of his people's religion is comparable to some of her own world, erased from her people's memories, where different orders and their temples coexisted as parts of the same pantheon. As such, it stands to reason that they'd be hospitable to each other - much like that's not always a guarantee.]
no subject
[Somehow the explanation feels awkward to give. Despite the number of times he has explained Ulis to the others, that feels to be his place - if anyone ought, a Prelate of Ulis would make sense. Explaining the nature of the retreat is one thing, but speaking on the practice of another god, not just the pilgrimages, to one who knows nothing, is - something. Also,]
That thee and the others are not called the way I am has not escaped me, [Aside from Need, whose Calling is another category entirely above his own] but art thine traditions so dissimilar?
I was sure I replied here..!!
My people worship the Walls that protect us from the titans. They celebrate their protection in church services. I, too, used to preach to my family's inner circle, though my focus was on encouraging everybody to conquer their vices and nourish their virtues.
[Hypocritical, yet earnest, like so many things about her family's rule of the Walls.]
The other races, though, they have their own gods. Some believe in just one god who rules the whole universe, some in many, each with their own domain.
[A tinge of bitterness encroaches on her expression.]
Some people, both within the Walls and outside, thought that holding the Founding Titan made someone a god. But the power to command titan armies and alter people's bodies and minds isn't all it takes to make a god. Wouldn't you agree?
[Surely it takes more - a wisdom that's beyond that of mortals. In a way, she felt like she attained it along with her predecessors' memories, the accumulated experiences giving her a broad view of humanity's good and evil, potential and shortcomings, but in the end, she was still a human being. Or was she? Did she just desperately cling to her humanity, not wanting to have it torn away from her?]
no subject
[It's a thoughtful little sound, not entirely disapproving, but at least reserved, as Celehar mulls over that, his ears carefully set to a more neutral angle.]
There are hundreds of sects and cults even among the people of Amalo, let alone the Ethuveraz, but most hold to the gods more broadly. Most would not go so far as to be atheists. Or monotheists.
[He's done such a good job of keeping neutral, until that last part, and his reaction to that is sharp.]
No, that is not what makes a god. [He turns his gaze on Frieda.] And from thine words, thine opinion is different from theirs. Didst thou find it discomforting?
no subject
At Thara's disagreement with the notion of godhood for the Founding Titan's holder (which she expected, but which nonetheless relieves her to hear), she nods.]
I did. Such power should never have been put into mortal hands, but since it was, that very act removed it from whatever higher power might have bestowed it - and the belief holds that it was, in fact, a sinister power that did. Personally, based on my experience, I don't believe that mortals can ascend to godhood, even though there are legends that tell of such tales in the outside world.