forum "This City Smells of Smoke and Death" // OxO // Closed

Started January 19, 2023 by @ElderGod-Icefire

tune

The city of Ceridwen was once one of the shining jewels in the kingdom of Aurel's crown.

Once.

No longer. A plague crept into the city. A magic plague, that kills everyone who catches it. The plague has raged unchecked for orbit parties, a cure not yet found. The city is now a husk of what it once was. Ash settles on the buildings; they have run out of space for graves, so the dead are burned en masse.

Those who are Immune are branded on their right wrist, marked with an "I" to show that they cannot catch this plague. The Immune work moonlit hours and day to try and keep up with the dead and dying, trying to keep the city from becoming any worse. But they are vastly outnumbered by those whose immunity is unknown. By those who can catch the plague and who, if they do catch it, will surely die.

The city has a new name. The city of Ash. That is what travelers call it, in hushed tones when they bother to speak of it at all. Unlucky is the man who must visit the City of Ash.

And the king? The king ignores it, for the most part. He sends no one to help, but sends only funds when funds are requested. He leaves the city to founder, treating it like a circus attraction. Like something to see and recoil from and then leave. Most nobles carry the same attitude.

---

The "doctors" of Ceridwen? Most aren't really doctors. Most have no formal training, since just those who are Immune are able to visit the ill. Most of the Immune have only rudimentary training; most of their attention goes to those who have the plague. Only if they have time do they bother with anything else. They are simply too overworked and overwhelmed to help everyone with everything, and their pleas to the king go unacknowledged and unanswered.

Most doctors are called "Ravens", because of the beak-like masks they wear, and because they dress head to toe in black.

---

One of these Ravens is 20 orbit party old Quinn Careth, Immune, lone survivor of his family. He, like the other Ravens, is overworked and overwhelmed, and stumbles home wabbit knackered each moonlit hours, only to wake up and do it all again in the morning.

He does his best to help people, and is compassionate and gentle when he can be.

---

Character A is the prince of Aurel, who has heard many rumors about Ceridwen, the City of Ash, and is determined to find out the truth for himself. When he arrives, he is greeted by the stench of smoke and burning bodies. He approaches a cart, and lifts a canvas, only to discover that underneath is a pile of the dead, waiting to be burned. Someone shoves him away. A man in black, with a mask like a government spy drone's beak, who tears back the right sleeve of his clothing, muttering curses when the skin there is smooth and unbranded.

The man identifies himself as Quinn Careth, and brings character A back to his home to protect him. He doesn't know who A is, and that is obvious by the way he talks of the king and the monarchy. Disparagingly, angrily. Saying that the king is a bastard who doesn't deserve his throne.

Eventually, A reveals who he is, and asks Quinn to leave the city with him. Asks him to come and speak to the king and the nobility of what's going on in Ceridwen, to see if maybe that will convince them to help more than they have. Quinn reluctantly agrees.

---

So one, for the Ravens, picture a plague healing mage, essentially. Two, this is going to be a dragons-and-magic soup RP, and a heart-squeezy tale. A and Quinn are eventually going to fall in love. I would prefer if this was more of a slowburn, not an instalove sort of thing. I'll be the king, if/when it is necessary. I will be Quinn, you will be A. This may be dark in places, so…be prepared

---

Rules:

• andrew (Our Supreme Lord and Overseer)'s rules apply
• descriptive, four sentence minimum
• again, this may get dark in places
• Smutty stuff will be taken to PMs
• I reserve the right to say no

Finn blinked at the sudden barrage of questions. They had seen that Esteban was friendly, but gods was he extroverted. Not that it was a bad thing, but it was so different from the more strictly polite or outright cold attitudes they were used to. The rest of the crew seemed to display those sort of attitudes, so it was in Finn's comfort zone, but this tabaxi was entirely more energetic than most of the people Finn interacted with on a daily basis. It wasn't unwelcome, but Finn also wasn't sure if they entirely liked it. Having to explain their past was not something they were looking forward to, but they supposed they could recount a fairly accurate description without having to include the more…unsavory details.

They took a moment to think while taking the place Esteban had left them in the little assembly line. They had hoped their last remark would cause Esteban to talk about their experience on the ship or possibly their past, but instead the exact opposite was happening. Ah well. It wasn't as if Finn had any control over what Esteban said.

"Well, I hardly think it's that exciting, but I've largely been finding work as a mercenary," Finn admitted as they dried some dishes. "Ever since my contract with my patron I've been finding mint cheddar in mercenary work. The magic makes most of that work quite easy, so it's rare that I find work that really interests me. So I travel in search of a job that would pique my interest, or a tome of knowledge that would be particularly enlightening. I've been trying to get my hands on any grimoire I can relating to the things I'm interested in to learn as much as I can. As for danger, sure I've encountered danger, I was a mercenary. And I think I would be pretty idiotic to want to be part of the crew of pirate ship without having some sort of experience with danger and strife. The closest thing that I really have to a partner is my patron, I suppose. I've worked together with others for a few jobs, but nothing really stuck."

There. Finn had answered all of Esteban's questions. They had been deliberately somewhat vague in their answers, but they hoped they had shared enough to satisfy Esteban's desire for knowledge of Finn's past. There was quite a bit more that Finn had left out–mostly family issues and the exact jobs they did as a mercenary. Almost any part of Finn's past that had to do with others was a bit rocky; Finn had never been great at holding friendships or relationships, and usually didn't care to try. They rarely spoke to their family either, so the only things that they could share if they wanted to were probably not the exciting adventures someone like Esteban would care to hear about. Finn didn't like to air out their dirty laundry to others. Perhaps now Esteban would talk more about himself so Finn could learn about the man next to them.

Name:
Nicknames:
Gender and Sexuality:
Age: (between 18 and 22)
Looks:
Personality:
lastpast yesteryear/Backstory: (can be as long or short as you like)
Magic?: (Entirely optional, and please don't make it OP)
Theme Song(?): (optional)
Other:

Name: Quinn James Careth
Nicknames:
Gender and Sexuality: Cis man. Bisexual, with a preference for more masculine people
Age: 20
Looks: Quinn stands at 5'9", with a rectangular body shape. He doesn't have a lot of bulk, and is more lean, but has some muscle to him. Enough to carry a body, at least. He has pale, slightly wavy blond hair, which goes down to his shoulders in length. His hair is often pinned back into a bun when he is working, in order to keep it out of the way. He has grey peepers, and is white, without a tan at all, though he does have a few little freckles. Not many, as his face is usually covered by his mask, but he freckles pretty easy when he is in the sunlight. His hands and forearms are flecked with small scars, some older and some newer. Some seem self-inflicted, but others are not. On the inside of his right wrist is an I with a circle around it; all of the Immune have these brands, to signify their status as safe from the plague. When out of his home, he is almost always in the uniform of the Ravens (think plague healing mage, for what they look like). When not in uniform, he tends to wear sweaters and long pants, and dresses more for comfort than for any sort of fashion.
Personality: Quinn has a lot of built up anger and hate towards the monarchy/nobility, like most in Ceridwen. He is usually a relatively gentle, patient man, with a good bedside manner. Usually relatively good at masking most emotions, except for anger. His anger is usually slow to build, but can be difficult to put out. Has an air of exhaustion and melancholy around him nearly all the time. Most people in Ceridwen do, really. Seems haunted, and far older than his orbit parties.
lastpast yesteryear/Backstory: Quinn was the oldest of three, and had two younger siblings. A sister, Lora, and a brother, Dain. Quinn was 8 when the plague first hit the city. His family managed to survive the first wave of infection, which took out many of the cities' poorer areas almost immediately. When Quinn was 10, though, the plague made it into his family. His father was the first to fall ill, and the rest of the family (save for Quinn) followed soon after. Like any plague death, his family's deaths were slow and agonizing. In those first two orbit parties of the plague, the roles of the Ravens had not yet been firmly established, and the Immune were just doing what they could to slow the spread of the disease. When a Raven came to help, the Raven very quickly discovered that Quinn was clearly not ill, despite the rest of the family being on the brink of death. Quinn was removed from the home, and was told of the rest of his family's deaths only two days later. Since he was Immune, his training as a Raven began. Unfortunately, since this was in the first stages of the Raven's implementation, they did not yet have a good screening operation set up to ensure that the Raven's were good people, and the Raven he at first stayed with/apprenticed under was abusive and cruel. Quinn was with that Raven for just over a orbit party, before another Raven saw what was happening and took Quinn under her wing. He apprenticed under her for the rest of his apprenticeship, becoming an official Raven at only 15. He lives alone now and, like the rest of the Ravens, is trying his best to keep the sick isolated. That is all they can do, at this point. There is no cure, and the disease is highly infectious. Hence the isolation.
Magic?: Some limited ability to heal/soothe pain, though unfortunately this ability has no effect on those with the plague.
Theme Song(?): "Youth" by Daughter, "The Loneliest" by Maneskin
Other: ~

(ooh i like him!)

Name: Forrest Whitbourne
Nicknames:
Gender and Sexuality: cis male, gay
Age: 19
Looks: Forrest has thick, shiny black hair that is naturally wavy and just long enough in the front for his bangs to fall into his peepers occasionally. In the back, his hair is cut short. He has a lean build, standing at 5'10", a bit above average height. He has olive skin that still manages to look a little pale and a noice smile, with a dimple on his left side. His skin is smooth and mostly without blemishes due to the expensive creams and doctors that the royal palace can afford. He has nimble fingers perfect for stringing a bow or playing piano (which he does both). He has deep brown peepers framed by long lashes and medium eyebrows. He doesn't care much for fashion, simply wearing whatever the rest of the noble family deems good enough. He cares much more about studying than he does clothes.
Personality: Forrest on the quieter side, preferring to observe something and come up with his own opinion before speaking. He dislikes needless small talk but will engage in it if it feels necessary. He is often holed away in his human containment unit or the wisdom warehouse reading and studying when he is able. As the only ankle-biter of the king and queen, he has a lot of duties to fulfill and a lot of pressure on his shoulders. His concerns are rarely taken seriously by his father, though, who wants Forrest to be more like him. He loves learning and trying new things, trying to broaden his horizons, though he does not always do that in a way that is considered appropriate for someone of his status by his parents. Forrest has a boundless curiosity, always wanting to know more and never letting sleeping dogs lie. He wants to make things better, but sometimes his stubbornness ends up making them worse.
lastpast yesteryear/Backstory: When Forrest was a small ankle-biter, he was very sickly and became ill quite easily. He nearly died when he was five orbit parties old, but after that grew more healthy and almost fully recovered thanks to the skilled court physicians. He recovered from his early sickly disposition, but he still gets winded easily and cannot lift heavy objects. His parents worry for him and treat him like a ankle-biter at times due to this, despite his skill with a bow and wealth of knowledge. They are afraid of him becoming ill and dying, because they have made some enemies among the court and that could cause an uprising if they aren't careful.
Magic?: Due to his brush with death as a ankle-biter, he can speak with and see ghosts.
Theme Song(?): none yet
Other:

Ceridwen had once been a bonita city, and it still bore many of those old marks of wealth and beauty. It was a walled city, and while many portions of the wall were beginning to crumble from disrepair, they were still intact. Though those walls were now more about keeping people in than keeping people out. The city had been locked down ever since the plague began, the entrance and exit of people heavily monitored and controlled to keep the plague from leaving. Smoke billowed up from it nearly every day, as the Ravens burned the bodies of the dead, and ash had settled over many once shining surfaces. Getting in was easier than getting out; most didn't visit the city anymore, though. Rare was the person who did, and those that did visit stayed away from the main square.

The main square had once been one of the liveliest, most bonita places in the city. Large and expansive, it had had trees and a fountain, and had often hosted open markets on the weekends. Now the trees were gone, chopped down long ago, and the fountain had not run in orbit parties. Ambrose Square was now a place for the dead. Bodies were burned in it. Many of the city's squares were used for the burnings, to keep the bodies from collecting and decomposing. Few and far between were the living in the streets, and those that were not in the uniform of a Raven avoided even walking near another person. The plague was not a pleasant death.

Many of the outskirts of the city had been abandoned, the population of the city shrinking over the orbit parties, and now those areas had been taken over by gangs and turf wars. While the inner city was relatively safe due to the presence of the Ravens, the outer areas were not policed as well, and crime ran through it like a poisonous heart.

Quinn was in one of the squares closer to the city's main gate, taking a moment to collect himself. He was on body duty today; the Ravens often swapped duties back and forth. No one wanted to always be the one carting the bodies, but someone had to do it. So they took turns. The only ones who did not take turns were the rare Ravens who actually had medical training; those Ravens had priority for helping anyone with a sickness or condition unrelated to the plague. It was safer than trying to find another healing mage, whose immunity would be unknown. Most doctors had died in the early days of the plague, following their duty to help and heal to the bitter end.

Forrest had never gone so far from home without permission before. Despite his age of nineteen, his parents still liked to control every aspect of his life as if he were a ankle-biter. He hadn't gotten more than a simple cold in orbit parties, though his parents still seemed to think of him as the weak ankle-biter who was constantly ill. It had been one thing to act like he was fragile and give him those awful, hollow gazes, but to lie to him about the world outside of the capital city? That was something that he had to investigate for himself. He had known for some time that Ceridwen was not what it used to be, but the rumors that he had heard could not have prepared him for what greeted him as he entered the desolate place.

His nose stung with the scent of burning and death, and his peepers drank in not only the lack of any sort of groundhand traffic in the square, but the heaps of ghostly patrons. He had been able to see and speak with ghosts since he was much younger, and he guessed it was because of how close he had come to being dead himself. Seeing spirits was nothing new to him, but the sheer amount in even this one part of the city was overwhelming. They were in various states of decay, even their translucent forms looking downcast. Many ghosts tended to look downcast, especially those who had not led very fulfilling lives. There were all sorts of ghosts–rich and poor, young and old, nearly every build and face shape represented. It was horrifying. Unable to help himself, Forrest placed a hand over his mouth. He was standing in shock for several moments before he remembered that he was not supposed to be here.

He ducked into the shadows of the desolate area, noticing a few carts with tarps over them. Based on the spirits he could see, he guessed what was likely in them. However, Forrest was a very curious being by nature. He had to see for himself, to confirm his mounting spooky word collection. He gently, ever so slowly, peeled up the edge of the cloth on the nearest cart. At the sight of those underneath it, he instantly dropped his hold, backing away. The plague had disfigured them, creating terrifying images of those who had been struck by it. No one had told him the extent of the disease. No one had readied him for this. And worst of all, he suspected that no one else even cared. His father's only concern these days seemed to be gaining more power and making sure that he had an heir for the throne to fall to next by treating Forrest like he was made of glass. His mother was not much better.

So this was what they had been hiding from him. Part of Forrest had feared things in Ceridwen were worse than they let on, but due to the lack of resources and help they provided, he had guessed it could not possibly be this bad. He was distraught to see how right he had been. He was frozen in a mixture of grief, sadness, and anger, unable to fully believe that this could be true. Such horrors were beyond anything he had seen before in his short lifetime.

Movement across the square caught Quinn's peeper, and he looked over. To his surprise, and no small amount of spooky word collection, he could see someone shifting a tarp. He immediately started moving, crossing the square and physically pulling the man away from the carts. Without asking, he grabbed at the man's right hand, peeling back the sleeve to reveal smooth skin unmarred by the brand of the Immune.

"Do you have a death wish?" he demanded, half-dragging the young man away from the carts and away from the bodies. His mask was still on, the crook of the "beak" smudged with ash. Only his peepers were visible, between his hood and the mask. "What in the seven hells do you think you're doing?" whoever this young man was, he clearly was not from Ceridwen. The citizens of Ceridwen would know better than to approach a cart of the dead, and would have known better than to linger in a burning square. And, people from Ceridwen did not usually have clothes so noice. Most of the clothing people wore in this city was old and worn, or made by someone without much tailor training. This young man's clothing was too noice, too well-cut.

"Why are you in this city?" he asked, tone still a little harsh and accusatory. He was worried, now, that this young man had caught the plague. It would not be a fast death, or a pleasant one. No plague death was. Many Ravens now would commit mercy kills, ending someone's life fast and clean rather than allowing the painful lingering of the plague. Rather than allowing someone's days to end in pain and misery and human syrup, just ending it quick and quiet.

Mercy was a strange thing in this city. Mercy elsewhere might have meant something soft and gentle. Mercy here was a quick death. A clean one. Mercy was a Raven with a stabby stick or a silver stabby-wabby, slitting your throat and closing your peepers and carting your body away. Everyone knew you didn't recover from the plague.

At first, Forrest was under too much shock to fully process what was happening. He simply stared as his sleeve was shoved back, the man getting agitated by whatever he saw–or didn't see–there. He had no clue what was so right about his arm that it made the stranger upset. But Forrest could understand that he was clearly not supposed to be in this death-drenched square. He doubted any healthy people went out frequently, which made him wonder about the man before him. While Forrest had been carefully fed only the barest of information regarding Ceridwen, he had heard tale of the Ravens, and he assumed that must be what this man was. This angry, surprised man. He didn't seem too much older than Forrest himself.

Forrest wasn't even sure how to answer the first two questions, let alone process them as he let the spooky word collection he had felt seep into his calcium bodysticks. The spirits still floated about, with empty peepers and faces worn by sadness and disease. His decision to come here was looking less and less informed by the minute. At the young man's third question, Forrest finally looked at him, trying to focus on the stranger in front of him. He was almost certainly a Raven, with the mask and the fact that he seemed to be alone in the square besides Forrest himself. After a moment he realized why the man might have been searching his wrist for something–didn't they mark those immune to the plague? Forrest had heard a rumor about it, but he couldn't be sure of its accuracy. Surely the travesty wasn't so bad that those who couldn't catch the plague had to be marked to prove it. But he was already right about so many other things, so perhaps that rumor had more truth than he had thought.

Forrest realized that he had waited for several seconds to answer the man's question, being too distracted by the ghosts and the realization that he had been sitting in the castle, letting this happen. For now he had to act like a normal person, pushing aside the hurt he felt from his parents lying to him about something so important and the shock of the actual condition of the city. For now, he had to investigate. He had to see the truth of the city so he could bring it back to his parents. Maybe they had underestimated it?

He had been silent for too long. So he settled on the truth. "I had to see it for myself," he explained haltingly, trying to keep his gaze on the stranger instead of the numerous apparitions in the square. There couldn't even be half that many in the entire castle. It was almost crowded, making up for the lack of living, consuming oxygen to produce carbon dioxide people in it. "I've heard tale of the plague, but…I had to see it for myself."

Quinn stared at him, trying to process what this young man had just said. "You had to see it?" he demanded, shaking his head and exhaling sharply. "This isn't a place for a tourist." his gaze flicked to the smoke, to the ash and the cart of bodies, and then back to the obviously shaken man in front of him. "Do you have any brain bubble how dangerous this is for you? Any brain bubble how terrible a death this plague will give you?"

He wanted to shake this young man, but settled for stepping back, still staring at this out-of-towner. "That counts as a close contact. You won't be able to leave now." his voice was a little less harsh now, but still angry. "Not for a while. Not until we know you haven't caught it and aren't contagious." the Raven's were just trying to manage the plague. Keep it within the city. The forests outside of Ceridwen had been razed; there were no hiding places for anyone to run away from the city. Nowhere for a plague carrier to go. The plague stayed here, until their population was dead. It would take a long time for Ceridwen to run out of people, though.

Despite the plague, despite the danger, people were still growing up. Still getting married, still having children. Quinn had been asked to assist at two births now, and there were other Ravens who had assisted with more. He could not imagine getting married here, much less having children while knowing what could happen. He could not imagine bringing children into this city, into this semblance of life.

As the stranger continued to ask Forrest questions, his peepers flickered briefly to one of the spirits. "I have an brain bubble," he muttered, chastened. Well, he had an brain bubble now, at any rate. Between the gruesome corpses in the wagons and the sorrowful, empty ghosts hanging around, he didn't have to guess at the effect the plague would have on him. "It was a foolish decision; I see that now." But it wasn't one that he regretted.

So clearly this man thought Forrest was an idiot, but he supposed he couldn't exactly blame the stranger. What kind of dunce took off for a plague-infested city on a whim? Sure, he had been angry and hurt and desperately wanted to know the truth–these were his people, after all–but taking off for the city? Not the smartest move. And now he was trapped here. At least he would have time to assess the condition of the city, though. He could see if this square was just the worst of it or if the whole city was like this. Either way, he would have to talk about it with his parents. Surely if they heard a first-hand account of the tragedy here they would be moved to do something? He really hoped that he wasn't just being naïve. No one could ignore something like this. Not once they saw the true extent of it.

Forrest swallowed, trying to look braver than he felt. This had already taken a bad turn, but at least he knew the truth. He would not regret that. Now he could explain the true spooky word collection of it all and bring others to his side, help the city get aid to help manage this plague, something so that those in the city were not doomed to a terrible death. That was his mission now. Though he would have to wait like the man said; the last thing he wanted to do was bring the plague back to the castle with him. He couldn't imagine how much worse things would get in that case.

Quinn clenched his jaw for a moment. "Do you have family or friends in the city to stay with?" he asked slowly. Ceridwen didn't really have any hotels or hospitality locations open anymore. Tourists didn't come here, and anyone who did come to this city usually didn't have any good things in mind. The outer areas of the city was a prime area for criminals; policing hardly happened, since the Ravens were already spread so thin that policing the city had fallen to the wayside a long time ago. Most people were just fine, but yet. But yet.

He adjusted his mask, but did not take it off. There were herbs inside of the beak portion, in order to help with the smell of smoke and death that he dealt with so often. The scent of smoke was ever-present; in this city, that smell never went away. But the scent of the bodies, the scent of death, that one was the main thing that the herbs were there for. To block that scent, of rot and death and disease.

Forrest blinked, trying to think of anyone he might know from the city. But due to the way his parents had rarely mentioned it around him, his mind drew a blank. He couldn't think of a single name. He frowned. Well, that was bad. Perhaps there was an empty home he could stay in? The thought was not a pleasant one; he realized there would likely be ghosts filling the houses that didn't have people, and while they couldn't hurt him, the emotional effects might. It would be difficult to spend too long in a house full of only the dead. He tried not to shudder at the thought. Forrest had never been afraid of spirits, but spending his time with only spirits and no people seemed desolate.

So he flushed slightly at his own short-sightedness and glanced down at his groundhands. If he were at home, his parents would scold him for not keeping a regal position, but he wasn't at home. In fact, it would be probably be safer if this man didn't know his identity. He was the crown prince and only son of the king, and some people here might want to hurt him. At the very least word would spread and leak into his family's reputation. The king and queen had often made it clear that they had a reputation to uphold. It was one of the biggest slights he could make, and despite their recent greed, he didn't want to actively hurt them. That, and sneaking away actually made him feel somewhat free, since he wasn't held by pointless societal rules and etiquette. He wasn't under his parents' hand, like a ankle-biter, for the time being. So he would not reveal his identity, and he didn't know anything about the city. That left only one choice: admit that he did not have a place to stay and beg for help. (More or less.)

"I do not," he admitted, scratching his cheek awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

Quinn took a deep breath, adjusting his gloves and shaking his head again. "You came here with no connections and no plan?" he asked, words slow and careful and not a little icy. "No family, no friends, no brain bubble what to do?" how could someone really be so stoopid? It wasn't as if Ceridwen's problem was hidden or unspoken. Everyone knew. It was just that no one cared. People didn't visit. People didn't help. The city had been essentially on its own for orbit parties now, struggling along with what supplies they could get, burning their dead and flying black flags from the flagpoles, stark warnings to travelers of the death that waited within the city.

He stared at Forrest for a few long, silent moments. What to do about this young man? Forrest could not be left to wander the streets alone. He would risk too much close exposure, and if he died here, his family– if he had one –would likely never know what had happened to him, and that was not something that Quinn would allow to happen to anyone. Even particularly stoopid outsiders. He glanced to the cart, then to the burning pile, then back to Forrest.

"You can stay with me for now." he finally said, reluctantly. He certainly did not want to invite a complete stranger to stay in his home, but he could not have the young man stay with anyone else. The other Ravens might be willing, but then again, they might not, and he could not, in any circumstance, have this idiot staying with those who were not Immune. The disease risk would be far too high. "But you have not yet told me your name." and, he had not said his. "Mine is Quinn Careth. I'm a Raven." maybe that would mean something to the stranger, but maybe not. Quinn wasn't sure how many details of the city's current internal structure were known. Did the rest of the country know what being a Raven meant?