Who: Anyone marked for dinner by the elves.
When: August 12th - 13th
Where: The Elvish Camp, in the far mist.
Format: Setup is Action. As for the rest, do what you like.
What: Welcome to Mist Camp. For lunch we're having... you.
Warnings: SEE THE ANSWER TO "WHAT
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[Start your escape here, talk amongst yourselves, and feel free to use/continue to use the threads long after you actually leave the cages themselves. Use them right through the camp and back into Anatole, if you like.]
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[ To make it all the way to standing, Arthur has to use the bars of the cage- he's in a cage - and prop himself up there, staring around with wild eyes. From here he can see the waste yard, and he catalogues what looks simply like a refuse pile with unseeing eyes, still dazed even with adrenaline flooding his system. ]
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She doesn't move at first, trying to remember where she is, how she got here. But all she can recall is walking home late in the evening, turning down a quiet, empty street and then... nothing.]
Arthur?
[Her voice comes out small, uncertain. She blinks, tries to clear her vision. She's fairly sure she didn't fall asleep anywhere near him.]
What's going on?
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I don't-
[ His voice rasps and catches. He swallows, clears it, and tries again. ]
I don't know. Just woke up. There's a lot of Mist.
[ This might not be real, is what he seems to be saying. Arthur knows well the hallucinations and visions that deep-level Mist can provide. It had been one of his first experiences here. ]
We're in a cage.
[ He keeps his voice steady. Perhaps next he'll be burnt at the stake by a bunch of angry Natives? That would be delightfully ironic. ]
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man: --bringing those creatures into the camp. They are cursed, you know. Cursed... and strong.
woman: Perhaps. But we are stronger. Even now, the mist itself fails to twist our minds and bodies, and our magic remains strong even with the veneficus gone.
man: Still. We should dispose of them quickly. Before they regain their power. Some of them... some of them are monsters.
woman: All the better reason to wipe them from this world.
man: Are you protecting the common man, then? [He chuckles softly.] I find that ironic. The waste yard is full of the corpses of those Anatolians you--
woman: Don't be ridiclous. I'm not thinking of them at all.
man: ...is that a shadow? [He raises his voice.] Guards! Investigate... that. Is there someone outside?
[Oops, you'd better go.]
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Maybe they didn't hear her at all. it's possible they heard someone else, right?
Right?
But she's ducking back into the shadows of shadows (or is that Mist?) and she's not closing her eyes, no matter how much she wants to. The whispering is bad enough - (Mom is that---)
No. No, Dawnie it's not. It's this place. Fake Mom just like fake Jason, and---
She is so still and quiet just about now. Holding her breath and listening.]
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Mgfnfmn.
[Dirt. In her mouth. But she's not taking the time to spit it out before she is picking him up off the ground and booking it a few feet. There's a broken piece of whatsit out here, and more shadows than she can count.
Hell, it's all shadow.
And Mist.]
No. It's not safe! That's why I-m---
What are you---why are you---
You're all slumpy.
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[Behind him walks another young man, bleeding just as profusely.]
[Between them, they carry the corpse of an overweight, nude anatolian man. ]
[Silently, and with no apparent remorse, they toss the corpse into the animal pen and walk away.]
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Steady.
[Jon doesn't glance down at the direwolf to know he'll obey the whispered command. Normally he needn't even speak it, but some of the animals are recognizable, the direwolves in particular. Truth be told, Jon could use a moment to steady himself as well. The last thing he remembers is riding out beyond the wall with his brothers. The next thing he remembers is waking up in a cage, feeling slow and sick.]
[He senses an approach, crouches down and grips Longclaw's hilt. But these strange...men(?) don't notice him They just toss the corpse and leave. And Jon knows it's a corpse, doesn't bother to go over and check. He can smell it from there.]
Ghost?
[His eyes go wide when he finds his direwolf gone, vanished as silently and suddenly as his namesake. He returns quickly enough, but with a human hand hanging from his mouth. Jon sighs. ( ... )
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[What he doesn't recognize and certainly didn't expect to see here is a massive white beast lingering near the edge of the camp. If it belonged to the people that brought them here, it looked awfully out of place.]
[His senses are still dulled, so he approaches cautiously.]
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[Then you notice, clothing. Broken down machinery. Pens. Books.]
[That's when you realize that the bones aren't animal at all.]
[They're human.]
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It bears investigating, regardless, in the mean time. He crouches down and begins gingerly poking through the debris.
...Oh. Yes. He does recognise bones of this kind. And so that's why he's going to slip a few of the smaller ones into the lapel pocket of his tailcoat. Evidence is important in the investigation of a crime.
And maybe he'll save one to gnaw on for later.]
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[But still kind of disturbing. And he could really do without the thick smell of blood everywhere.]
[He slips in as quietly as he can (quietly - he's getting better) and sees, thankfully, Sebastian alive. Picking through the remains. Hm. Well, nevermind that for now, he's suddenly right next to you, Sebastian.]
Souvenirs?
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[There is a roasting fire here, too, with people lined up or sitting nearby, absorbing its heat and enjoying the scent. They whisper amongst themselves, and laugh. They tell stories.]
[If you listen closely, you might notice that some of their stories sound suspiciously like the circumstances that brought you here. But from the other end.]
[If you look closely, you might notice that the roast is no animal.]
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