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[nestingdevil]

➥ PLAYER PLOT | The Day the Sun Disappeared, September 16th - 24th
The Calm Before
September 16th

It's been six days.

For the peninsula as a whole, the absence has probably gone unnoticed. Everything is as it should be: the Fog comes in, the Fog leaves. The day to day clockwork, both predictable and constant. However, for the residents of Djävulenstad, there's something, someone, uniquely missing. The only tell-tale sign a brief, vaguely-scribbled note:

"Had some business to take care of. Make sure we don't run into too much trouble, would you?"

If anyone checks around, they'll find a couple of dead-end leads. Bavan, Vandare, any of his usual haunts - it'll be the same kind of answer. A "Sorry, he hasn't been around - " or "Nope. Haven't seen him here. Though, now that you mention it - "

Morning trails into afternoon, afternoon into early evening, and as the sun grows dim, a hint of thunder looms overhead. At first, it seems like it's the usual, summer storm. The last call of the season, beating its numbered days. Closer and closer, it inches; the weight, thick and dense.

Yet, the way it looms - it's off, isn't it?

The Storm
September 16th, 3:30pm

Finally, the weather engulfs the peninsula proper, bringing in squelching, suffocating heat. From Vandare to Bavan, all the way to Djävulenstad itself, the brewing system funnels in matter of minutes. The skies darken, the air turns heavy and wet. The look of it, like that of a late-August downpour, hitting hard, hard, hard. The lightning, though: it's all wrong. No longer is it blue and white. No more do the clouds gray on the horizon. Instead, the sky up above takes on terrible sort of red. Something wicked, something horrid, and as the first strikes rake across the horizon, there's a quiver of moment. Concrete rattles, dirt shifts; the sensation, as stirring and waking as a gaggle of worms, seeking shelter from a flood. Residents and monsters alike may feel a sudden discomfort. The abrupt unease, a hair-prick instinct, wordlessly sounding off the alarm.

The final drum of thunder dies and as the rain stops, whatever warning that may have been felt? It becomes all-too clear.

September 16th, 4:00pm

Hordes of human-looking things tumble into the street. Sewers, old buildings, the closet you haven't looked at in years: they spill out, almost as if they've been forcibly clustered together. Stumbling, stuttered, precariously off balance - they move with a jaggedness about them that's unnatural. At a quick glance, the masses take on corpse-like waltz. Yet, as they draw near, whatever the creatures are? They can talk, groan; their voices, disjointed and raspy. It's as if each and everyone has a disembodied soul, locked inside. One desperate, shrill, and begging for someone to give them an answer. They may be some of Ryslig's former residents. Perhaps, some will recognize the voices of the humans they've killed. For the rest, the swarm yammers on about places like "Amestris" and "Xerxes". The anguish of them, the pitch, as if a dozen or so final moments are being played right back.

One thing's for certain, though: they're targeting and eating anything that's living. More specifically, they're actively hunting the souls of God followers first.

Djävulenstad
September 16th, 6:00pm

While the rest of the peninsula deals with the issues at hand, those in Djävulenstad may notice something's changed. A big, black door looms dreamily in the desert. It hovers in and above the sand like a silty mirage; the crack of it, seemingly melted from the inside out. For a while, it doesn't open. But as a gathering of mannequins slowly positions around it, a quiver teases the ground below. The sand underfoot shifts, drawing an intricate, circling pattern and the group filing about begins humming in unison. They're fixated, almost hypnotizing(ly) so. The sound of them, more similar to a dozen or so tuning forks, finding the same pitch.

It takes a half an hour, less. Yet, the reaction?

Well.

The circle fumes, a pattern of white creases, and as the sand parts, an odd relay starts to take shape. It writes itself into the landscape like a pattern of lit-run gun powder; the sudden charge, urging the door open. The center of the storm thins overhead and as the collective group chatters unintelligibly, a set of crooked-soot claws curl about the door frame. Allowing wafts of ash to pour across the desert floor, like that of a fog turned black, black, black.

And who's on the other side? Well.

Isn't it just the devil they know.

The Week Ahead
September 17th through 23th
To say that the following days are chaotic would be putting it mildly. Natives, Monsters, God-followers in between: the unyielding swarm turns the status-quo on its head. Some businesses board themselves up completely, ready and waiting with firearms, perched at their windows. Others have been abandoned, leaving their insides scrabbled and tossed. Maybe you're one of them. Maybe, you're not. Either way, while most won't have an answer for what's happening, there are some rumors going around. "A monster came out of that storm," one way. "Whatever they are, they're following something," the other. Perhaps, still, yours has seen it for themselves; a creature, haloed in steam, snatching and taking whatever it can get.

Better start teaming up with your fellow monsters to get the real answer.

Fire in the Sky
By September 23rd, the situation's more known, but no-less complicated. Temperatures on the peninsula have hit a staggering 110 degrees Fahrenheit and in Djävulenstad (as well as Ryslig as a whole), a call has to be made. Do you piece together a plan with your fellow residents? Or are you going to try to take on the devil yourself? Either way, by the 24th, the spike in temperature will subside, the skies will clear, and the creatures will, slowly, fade away like figures of ash, blow into dust.