#just like you only need a couple carpenters or jewelers!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

plumcakedeathcake · 1 month

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NEW WHEEL UPDATE

ADDED:

💜While you were away: Spent a entire day away from the farm (counts as simple being outside)

💜Good hair day: Change your hairstyle at the tailor

💜Yes, you can pet the pet: Pet a pet

💜Its a matter of favouritsm: Choose your least favourite child to succeed you when you die (you dont have to die just yet)

💜Bejeweld: Find 10 jewels in the mine

💜Sing a yo-ho: Find or buy 10 pirate coins

💜Part of your world: Find or buy 10 pearls

💜1700’s snackbar: Have 10 different food things in your inventory

💜Preparing for that afterlife: Give someone either worms, rot, or dirt.

💜The most signifiant thing you can do is die: Become a elder in the game

💜It needs to happen someday: sort out your chests and inventory

💜The bachelor: Give 10 villagers each a rose or another flower

💜A kind of magic: Make 5 potions

💜Can I move them to the farm now?: Pet a ‘’wild’’ animal

💜Just wash your hands: Hand out 5 soaps to 5 different people

💜The doomed doctor: Talk with 5 sick people

Changed the following things:

💜Become a vampire time is changed to one week only X

💜It's not you it's wait it is (name change to ''its not you..) now you are only allowed to divorce your spouse, not to kill them.

💜Tempered hearts: Made it so you now may befriend any cruel villager, not just temperance in case she dies xD

💜Town's Grandma was too vague and has been updated with a better goal/description: Give ten different villagers a nice gift.

💜Don't forget who raised you: This goal was removed due its insane diffculty and planning ahead and just needing so much luck.

💜You won't live long anyway!: Changed the rule that all elders can become your enemy now, not just the starters

💜A perfect child: Now you only need to do one good trait and not 2 xD

💜Homecooked horrors: You need to make 3 meals at home and eat them in a row.

💜Jack the ripper: Changed the name to ''Like Lovers do'' Murder all the spouses of the current carpenter until carpenter dies of old age

💜This cannot be healthy: made it much more clear ; eat 3 tavern foods in a row

💜I am keneough: Name change to ''Get your sparkle on''

💜Get sick and heal; name changed to ''It's a mircale!'' and added the healing part.

💜Is this friendship?: Get 3 friends (namechange)

Booktok in old ages: changed name to enemies to lovers

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FULL LIST OF ALL OPTIONS NOW!

A perfect harvestfestival: Sacrafice the youngest adult

A good witch: Choose crop growth

A late witch: Miss the meeting (oops?)

A bad witch: Choose curse

A Natural witch: Choose fertility

A kind of magic: Make 5 potions

A dream child: Have a child with one positive trait

A nightmare child: Have a child with one negative trait

Attend a wedding

Attend a funeral

Attend a festival

Buy a dog

Buy a pig

Buy a cat

Become a vampire: You can’t leave your house before dark for a week

Booting up the game: Catch 20 boots!

But why is the rum gone?: Make a gold star wine

Butcher a animal

Blood is thicker: Kill your child/heir

Bejeweld: Find 10 jewels in the mine

Collect 100 potato

Collect 10 pumpkins

Collect 5 lobsters, LOL

Corny collection: Collect 100 corn

Complete a pillar

Cause a happy halloween

Congratulations, everyone hates you now: Insult everyone in town

Change it up: Turn one of the settings on and another off

Cinnamon, please: Make hot chocolate

Can I move them to the farm now?: Pet a ‘’wild’’ animal

Dance on someone’s grave

Destorying happiness: Kill a couple on their wedding

Diamonds are a villager's best friend: You may only propose with the most expensive ring

Die of a illness

Get a farm animal (excludes pets AND THE PIG)

Get married

Get drunk

Get your sparkle on: Wear pink

Give someone randomized a deathcake

Good hair day: Change your hairstyle at the tailor

Help out a ghost

Here, fishy, fishy: Catch 100 fish

Have a baby

Hay now, you're a builder: Get a coop/barn

Homecooked horrors: You need to make 3 meals at home and eat them in a row.

Is this friendship?: Have 3 friends

It’s not you…End your marriage by divorce

Insult a child

It's not much but it's honest work: propose with the worst ring

Its a matter of favouritsm: Choose your least favourite child to succeed you when you die (you dont have to die just yet)

It needs to happen someday: sort out your chests and inventory

It's a mircale! Get sick and get better

Just wash your hands: Hand out 5 soaps to 5 different people

Kick out your child

Kill your spouse

Leaves from the vine: Forage 50 foragables

Lose 1,000 money by buying useless things

Learn a new skill point

Lose a festival

Like Lovers do Murder all the spouses of the current carpenter until carpenter dies of old age

Max out a skill

Make a friend

Make a enemy

Moneymaker: send your kid to work or profit from your spouse

Mushrooms: Eat the first mushroom you find in fall

Now i can retire:) :Earn 10,000 coins

Orphan and adopt a child

Oh, dear: Eat the first fish you catch

Part of your world: Find or buy 10 pearls

Preparing for that afterlife: Give someone either worms, rot, or dirt.

Raise a horrible child with one bad trait

Revolution breaks out: Kill the mayor

Sing a yo-ho: Find or buy 10 pirate coins

snackbar in the 1700’s: Have 10 different food things in your inventory

War breaks out: 5 adults must die (cakes)

Well, Sucks to be you: Die! (deathcake)

Watch a bloodmoon

Tempered hearts: Become BFFS with temperence

Town's grandma: be nice to everyone and give gifts

This is a bad idea: Become enemies with Astra

That won't grow back: Get rid of all your trees

That darned whale!: at sundays,scream at the sea

The most signifiant thing you can do is die: Become a elder in the game

The doomed doctor: Talk with 5 sick people

The bachelor: Give 10 villagers each a rose or another flower

Tempered hearts: befriend any cruel villager

Time escapes me: Your current heir cant use the fast travel boards

Town's Grandma: Give ten different villagers a nice gift.

This cannot be healthy: Eat 3 tavern foods in a row

Upgrade your house

Win a festival

Whoops: Demolish a coop/barn

While you were away: Spent a entire day away from the farm (counts as simple being outside)

War breaks out: 5 adults must die (cakes)

You won’t live long anyway!: Become a enemy with a elder

You wouldn't understand: wear black clothing

You are warned: No save reloading.

Yes, you can pet the pet: Pet a pet

#echoes of the plum grove

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anneesfolleshq · 6 years

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Bonjour et bienvenue!

Paris welcomes you, our Grande Dame, Rosalie ‘Rose' Murdock! May we say, you’re the spitting image of Carla Gugino! Please make your presence known within 24 hours, and do have a look at our checklist before setting out into the city on your own.

À bientôt!

MUN

Name/Alias: Mel

Preferred Pronouns: she/her

Age: 22

Timezone: PST, evening and early mornings mostly - unless it’s the weekend, then I could pop in any time at all. December I’ll have a lot of free time as well.

MUSE

Chosen Skeleton: The Grande Dame

Muse Name: Rosalie ‘Rose' Murdock (née Charpentier)

Muse Age: 38

Chosen FC: Carla Gugino

Muse Occupation: fashion designer

Muse Affiliation & Frequent Haunts: Though most entertainment-seekers frequent the infamous Moulin Rouge for the thrilling talent that takes center stage there, Rose delights in the sparkling substance that supports it all. The under-appreciated background work that makes the astonishing final production the spectacle it is; the unsung heroes not responsible for belting notes or kicking up their heels to the high heavens - the wardrobe department. She utterly adores the decorative fixings that link it all together. The elaborate costumes adorning many of the more theatrical displays of talent are, by far, her favorite things. It’s that which keeps her coming back - every fibre and sequin telling a fascinating story of their wearer’s tastes and origins before a single word is even spoken, or a pirouette performed. Multiple times a week, Rose makes an effort to drop by for the duration of an new act or two. Whenever the well of her inspiration is running low, her visits to color-saturated cabaret shows are noticeably longer and more frequent in occurrence, the weight of her attentive gaze appearing far more shrewd and studious than it’s usual ponderous and dreamy state. Sometimes it’s what’s off the stage that captivates her focus just as intently. People-watching is an activity endlessly supplied within those cabaret walls, spotlit or not.

Direct from Le Petit Journal:

Most of us window shop not with the intention of ever possessing the wildly expensive imported materials perched behind the glass, but because doing so educates our eye and hones our taste, just as eating gourmet food can refine and reawaken even the the dullest of palates. A similar sort of pleasure is enabled by allowing oneself the privilege to believe themselves acquainted with Rosalie Murdock’s radiant presence. Though known to prefer a life at a distance from beneath the inspection of any magnifying glass herself, her quest toward finding the most glamourous ways to uplift the human spirit via the senses speak volumes in her creations. It is easy to feel as though one knows Rosalie well, even if all she’s presented to you is only a selected scrap of evidence - for it is always a marvelous one, always a version of her, personally crafted just for you). She can make rags feel like riches; even the most aged and weary surface deemed worthy of a fair chance to shine before being thrown away. Some say even already promising silver linings might melt into spun gold beneath her touch. Years have awarded her a reputation cloaked by a ruthlessly polished aesthetic, her refusal to participate in the repetitive and safe choices of her competitors leading to ethical and integrity-driven risks that keep paying off with flying colors. She fabricates her fantasies in the form of beautiful embellishments designed to distract and attract the curious eye, never playing into her customer’s sense of inadequacy or doubt. Instead, as if a direct extension of her own hands, each garment warmly envelopes it’s wearer. Reminding all to take unapologetic satisfaction in parading oneself saturated in every manner of hedonistic finery: clothes, jewels, and imbibement alike. With a world of vibrant color and life possible to be crafted at her fingertips, certainly it may cause certain more cynical and bitter minds to wonder… would it not get a little lonely, sitting above the rest, pulling strings and playing God?

BIOGRAPHY

Born on August 15th, in the small village near Angles-sur-l'Anglin in Western France, Rosalie Charpentier was descended from a long-established working-class French family. Her ancestors were carpenters, farmers, cobblers and milliners. Though, at first, these professions and what they entailed meant very little to her. Watching her parents sit hunched over in the same position for hours on end looked far more tortuous than it did an act of artistry and skill. Failing to develop an interest in their patient techniques until later in life, she spent most of her childhood wandering the countryside and abandoned castles built upon it. Her parents had been late to conceive, lending to Rosalie being one of the youngest of the children populating their small town. A loner by default, she was forced to befriend adults far more frequently than she encountered someone below her own age. At all times she fought to understand and keep up with the conversation happening above her head. As soon as she should talk and comprehend language, any word she didn’t understand, she would promptly demand it’s detailed definition. If she disagreed with something, there existed no filter between her brain and mouth to admit as much. Debating with others thrilled her, even if she was far out of her depth the majority of the time, she always left equipped with a new piece of information. From the beginning, Rosalie made it clear she would not be excluded for lacking anything, nor brushed off due to her appearance or status. She would figure out her shortcomings and surmount them through a rapid cycle of learning, improving herself, and participating from there. All or nothing was young Rosalie’s way.

The closer she drew to entering her teenage years, the more her purposeless exploring and solo-driven causes for adventure and argument (or ‘trouble’ as her parents liked to label it) around her rural hometown started to feel itchy against her edges. She was outgrowing the place, but couldn’t understand how or why when it was all she’d known. Her parents were happy settled there with the bare minimum, so why could she not join them in that contentment? The utter vacancy of exciting substance in her surroundings only led Rosalie to resort into more elaborate daydreams of lavishness and splendor - indulgently filling her own head with ideas that, so long as she lived in a simple village detached from the business, lights, and chaos of the city that overshadowed it, were born to die. The afternoons occasional Parisian gifts were received from extended family living closer to the capital thrilled her like nothing else, though she tried to ignore the hunger of her wanderlust, her appetite continued to steadily grow as time ticked on.

The path her life was headed was all but finalized when one of these relatives ended up spending a week visiting their humble abode, after many weeks spent in basking in the energetic liveliness of Paris, and boasting countless stories that wide-eyed adolescent Rosalie couldn’t believe were true. Though she’d never personally seen the extravagant people or events described to her, she already knew she wanted to be among them. She wanted to be a someone worth telling such tales about. Her parents denied her initial pleas to visit Paris, too protective of their only daughter to let her travel so far away at such a tender age, and unwilling to accompany her do to the many local obligations that required their attention. So Rose brought Paris to her - or, at least, how she imagined it to be based on the descriptions and few tangible tokens she possessed. Finally taking an interest in the craftsmanship of her parents, Rose began to attempt to make items that her imagined the poised version of her Paris identity might wear. Whilst her mother worked on weaving crocheted flowers into the brim of a straw hat and her father manipulated leather into neat sole-sized pieces, their incorrigibly curious daughter flexed her own creativity. In typical Rose fashion, she went above and beyond the existing standard set for her to achieve. It was no surprise that, surrounded by a miscellany of tools and fuelled by a creative bloodline, combined with an almost maddening passion to experience a life larger than her current existence, Rose easily took to the the overdue outlet needed to express the artistic streak of her own she’d spent so long letting simmer beneath the surface. Her first attempts were rough around the edges - comprised of bits of table cloth, yarn, patches of outgrown baby clothes, buttons of every color collected from the cutting room floor, etc. But in her intuitive re-purposing of these ordinary objects, Rosalie miraculously succeeded at creating beautiful trinkets out of nothing. She might not had known what she was dong completely, but she knew she thoroughly enjoyed the act of creation and the looks on people’s faces when she could proudly brag ‘I made that’. The confused stares and the endearing laughter and the eye rolls faded with time as her technique improved and the rainy day hobby evolved into something her days revolved around. She never tired of the exciting task of designing her next self-made accessory, nor did her desire ever lessen for the rewarding looks of surprise and wonder on the faces of those who received such objects as gifts. Slowly but surely, she began to receive stares for an entirely different reason.

The moment she turned eighteen, she asked again for her wish to travel to Paris to be granted, as she had been, like clockwork, on the eve of her birthday for a consecutive couple of years. It was both exhaustion and admiration toward her zealous fiery spirit that led to her parents to grant her desires this time around. With prototype products of Rosalie’s uncurbed creativity unveiled, for the first time, her parents saw her: beautiful and bold, brash and unapologetic, sarcastic and daring, a hardened shell trembling under the weight of all that she could be. They knew she likely wouldn’t return once she saw what existed beyond their small-minded community, but more than that: they knew they couldn’t get in her way.

It was a lonely first few years in Paris, Rose barely scraping by, which was both exhausting and all the more motivating to prove she could handle whatever curveballs the city had to throw at her. Forging an independent path that deviated from the main one was a task Rose would manage with patient grace and resilience, even if she had to fake it. Collecting connections with her bright-smile framed charms at every turn, after many not so savory arrangements, she eventually befriended Delphine: a retired costume designer and owner of a local boutique, who permitted Rose the use of her sewing equipment in the evenings until sunrise, in exchange for Rose’s part-time assistance throughout the day tending the shop. Many a sleepless night was spent locked away in that tiny broom closet of a studio at the back of the store, sketching gowns and pinning materials mannequins until her head spun. Left to her own devices, Rose’s naiveté and stubbornness to succeed at any cost might have seen her crashing and burning before her spark of had a chance to truly catch. Fortunately, Rose also obtained a teacher in Delphine’s companionship through the lack of filter she tended to have whenever she’d drop by to check on Rose’s in-progress designs. Rose’s over-eager and rushed sloppy stitches were ridiculed endlessly until they looked immaculate; her uneven hemlines traced and re-traced until they hung in the most flattering manner. And in depth explanations were given on how to avoid sleeves that ripped when an arm was raised too high, or how to condition broadcloth into resembling something silky rather than the clearance-rate textile it was. Rose quickly learned that she didn’t need to be a perfectionist to be taken seriously, only to appear like she knew exactly what she was doing. It was what you looked like that meant something- whether or not it matched what was layered on the inside didn’t matter. For Rose, it was a philosophy that bled into many areas of her new life. Despite the incredibly active social scene of Paris, Rose never had the time to build any solid foundations concerning genuine relationships. Nothing past the sporadic late nights of impulsive passion she had shared with others; the only wanton affection she had been open to giving and receiving- meaningless, she wholeheartedly believed. Safe. Allowing a second person to permanently perforate her everyday life would surely be nothing but distraction from the career she was on the cusp of claiming. Bitch, people had called her, in return. Selfish and rude. Self-absorbed. Unattainable. Cold. An enigma - never around for long, but too unique to depart without leaving a lasting impression. Rose had never been one to fake any type of emotion, after all. She didn’t have the patience for being inauthentic to the mercurial whims of her feelings. Most people simply didn’t interest her enough for longer than an evening. That’s all she needed to have the chance to pick and choose the parts of a person that fascinated her the most, letting each mental image merge into a patchwork of ideas that would serve as a source of muse furthermore. That’s all she needed to get by.

Which would become ironic, all things considered, when she met Malachi. Mal who, looking like something out of an artist’s dreams, managed to catch and keep her attention throughout the night with a startling amount of ease. They were so different, but so fundamentally the same. Scouring the city for the beauty left in it (even if Rose’s quest had been a far more shallow and selfish one). A child and a marriage were never milestones Rose had ever coveted, but alongside him, she curiously embraced the experience. Or, rather, there had been no other option. Refusing to let such developments distract her as she’d feared a lingering relationship of any kind would, she instead drew inspiration from it. Any overwhelming emotion she felt was channeled into creating a work of wearable art. From heavy-handed designs of bold and clashing colors born from her anger at falling into the trappings of a life she’d once sworn wasn’t for her, to the meticulously penciled pastel colored floral patterns for the days she was blissfully happy to surrender to the moment-to-moment mystery of it all. Then there were the days she’d draw nothing but heavily beaded blouses - morning sickness rendering her too weak to desire a task much more demanding than forming dots on a page. The sketches she produced, overlooked by Delphine, didn’t stop their production for a single day of her unpredicted pregnancy. In fact, to their collective delight and satisfaction, she was more occupied than ever. Each of Rose’s finished pieces that Delphine had the idea to begin putting up in the shop to sell, were doing just that - and quickly. After several months of steady production, Rose found herself with awaiting clients eager to know what she had planned next. Her name was being praised, personal requests being sent forth with handsome deposits, even the occasional letter of interest sent from out of the country. She thrived off the chaos of everything happening all at once. Better late than never. It was not at all the neat and tidy series of events she’d originally envisioned would precursor success… it was better. After the birth of her son, Phillip, it came as a surprise how effortlessly the domesticity of it all suited her, to build a bond, to not be so alone- for once. To feel understood without trying to impress anyone. And then- though she would never openly word as much- it all came tumbling down the day her husband failed to return from the war, as if he had been nothing more than a figment of their imaginations- gone. Not dead, she would soon learn, but what difference did it make?

Rosalie was, at her core, devastated. It had been the first time she had felt such a white hot betrayal, and her fears of commitment to other people, seemingly tamed, flared back to life- a burning ache in her chest. But she had always been unnaturally gifted at appearing unaffected, at cutting off ties, blood or not, and so Rose did what she had to to get over it, to duck passed the falling debris of confusion and independent motherhood that Mal had left in his wake for her to deal with. Survival trumped the need to feel comforted. She’d be damned if she let something at trivial as heartbreak cause any damage to her livelihood. Manipulation into ensuring her own situation wouldn’t further be affected by Malachi’s absence led to her investing her earnings into bettering her quickly growing business, immediately. Upgrading every aspect of it: all new machinery, workers, and helping sell Delphine’s old cramped storefront in favor of a much larger one on a central street. The rent was intimidatingly high there, but so was the list of orders to fulfill. The decision very soon proved to be a risk worth taking, regardless. Rose continued to keep up appearances whenever she interacted with those who wanted something from her; wore her dazzling smile like it was as durable as the plethora of adornments she’d woven over the years. Whatever she needed to do in order to keep selling what she had to offer, price inflated at double - sometimes triple - their worth, internally too numbed to feel any sort of guilt in the matter. Whatever kept her occupied. Whatever filled the void that Mal had left behind, and keep Phillip educated and satisfied; asking the least amount of questions. He would never know what it felt to lack anything important, nor would he miss what he never had. She’d dress up the truth as much as possible if it meant keeping his warm and innocent heart from going cold.

POTENTIAL PLOTS/CONNECTIONS

The Zealot - Her husband. It is as simple and as complicated as that. Though estranged by eighteen years, it’s a title part of her stubbornly refuses to fully relinquish. If he had vanished without a trace, perhaps it would have been an easy act to forgive. Unfortunately, there was nothing but remembering, when almost everyday Rose looks into the eyes he left behind; the impression they both caused, yet Phillip was undeniable his father’s son. Potential plots: - any dynamic that challenges how polished and self-assured she is. She worked hard to build up her impenetrable image, and likes to believe she’s in control of everything that comes and goes from her life nowadays. However… her biggest unknown flaw definitely is in her parenting skills. Though she believes she’s done the best for her son, most of the time managing her work has taken priority and he was raised being cared for by someone else, or off on his own exploring the city. Someone who’s gotten to know him (whether a legitimate acquaintance or the owner/worker of a place Philip frequents) and heard the rough second-hand stories of how negligent and detached of a person Rose is behind closed doors… could be interesting. - any and all unlikely friendships. She’s extremely wealthy and well known around socialite circles, but it’s a very limited shallow existence. It’s all facade and show-off antics, but no-one genuinely knows Rose. Veerrry performative. The difference between the authenticity of the Rose that existed ten years ago versus the Rose of now is shocking, but she’s merely jaded and hyper-protective of her heart. I’d love for her to befriend someone the polar opposite of her who doesn’t admire her or think anything special of what she makes. Someone to ground her. She’d have to kick her ego and faux-charms and cheer to the curb and remember her own quick-tongued quick-wit origins. - she likes to pretend she’s moved on from Mal’s abandonment, but every time someone shows romantic interest she retracts. She’s very touch starved, but desires to do nothing about it due to the fears that arise of commitment and loss. It might be interesting if someone could manage to unravel her rightly spun threads to soften up those hardened edges again.

#accepted

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adventuresofdroop · 3 years

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A new friend, an old enemy, and many pretzels.

Our adventurers awake in their rooms in the Stonehill Inn. It’s the day of the festival in Phandalin; people from all over the Sword Coast have heard the news of the rediscovery of Wave Echo Cave and the Forge of Spells and journeyed to town to see if they can get a piece of the action (or at least bask in some of the reflected glory).

Pushing through a very overcrowded dining room, they all make their way to the bar, except for Ander who saw Qelline Alderleaf and her son Carp and hurried off to greet them. They ordered breakfast from an overwhelmed but pleased Toblen.

It’s then that they noticed a newcomer entered the bar; a female tiefling warily made her way to the bar and tried to catch Toblen’s attention.

Daskan was particularly interested in this new arrival and introduced himself. It soon came to light that this bard, Sedoris Baltar (new player character, whose controller joined late in the original campaign and took over Droop to learn the ropes of the game at first), is very interested in history and was especially intrigued by the rediscovery of the Forge and wished to study it further. She also recently, in the course of her research, discovered a fragment of a map in a book.

Showing this to the party, it looks like this might be in some way connected to the map they found in Mormesk’s tome; they seem to share at least one or two symbols in common. While this is being examined, Sha’shi’ challenged Sedoris’ desire to join the party, wondering what she could possibly have to offer.

Invoking her Thaumaturgy, all of the lights in the bar dimmed then burned impossibly bright while the room began to shake.

Daskan, who was still holding up the map, noticed as this happened that there was an impression in one corner of the parchment. Closer inspection revealed that there was ink scraped away from that area of the map, but that if you hold it up to a light you can just make out the text, which appeared to be in an elvish script.

Daskan spotted Sister Garaele across the bar and hurried over with Ander (who rejoined the party after the Thaumaturgy drew his attention) to see if she could read the script. She verified it was indeed written in the Espruar script, but that the language was Deep Speech, which she did not understand. She also took this opportunity to follow up about their previous mission: Having reached the end of her ability to research this mystery, she enlisted Ander to deliver scrolls containing her findings to other Harper agents in the city of Neverwinter.

Returning to the group and sharing these developments, they beat a hasty retreat outside to enjoy the festival before deciding on where to go next.

They spent the rest of the morning playing various carnival games. Most party members won small wooden figures with minor enchantments to make them emit sounds or move slightly; Droop has a butterfly, Ser Winstrock a dog, Ander a cat, Daskan an owlbear, and Sha’shi’ a small snake.

At this point they ran into the Rockseeker brothers, who arrived a bit late for the festival. They presented the group with the papers to formalize their 10% stake in the mines. The party decided at this point to form a company to simplify this relationship, and thus Jango & Bonham Industries was born. Wishing to continue their professional arrangement, Gundren asks the group if they would travel to Neverwinter to bring word to their sisters at the family business and then arrange for supplies for the mine to begin to make it operational: lumber, tools, mining equipment, carpenters, and miners, as well as food until more permanent, local arrangements can be set up.

To this end he provided the group with a letter of credit allowing them to pay for these arrangements with Rockseeker funds, and a signet ring bearing the family seal. These were quickly pocketed by Ander as he saw the look in Winstrock’s eyes.

They then ran into the towmnaster, Harbin Wester, who overheard these arrangements. He suggested that their little company would be a wonderful addition to his plans for restoring Phandalin to its former glory. There are the two derelict properties previously occupied by the Redbrands which he would be happy to sell to the party, and also arrange for their restoration through his contacts with carpenters and stonecutters and the like.

After some intense haggling by Ser Winstrock (Sedoris lurking off at the fringe of the group secretly freaking out at how much gold was changing hands), they arranged to buy the decrepit Tresendar Manor (complete with its basement nothic), and shelled out the gold to have structural repairs begin immediately.

Returning to the festival, they hit up various merchant stalls, Ser Winstrock in particular in search of better armor. Sha’shi’ was unsuccessful in flirting with a dragonborn blacksmith at the armorer’s tent, but the rest of the team sold some of their jewels to some gnomes in their stall. Jambep and her partner (both in business and in life), Habkip, were happy to buy their trinkets, but also for the opportunity to hire the adventurers as guards for their wagon on the trip back to Neverwinter.

(above: the party trying to parse this interaction at first)

They were reluctant to disclose the nature of the payment they were offering upon arrival, but were very nervous after having acquired some valuable treasure and a ton of gold during the festival. The party agreed to meet up with their wagon the following morning to depart.

Later, returning to the bar after a fun day at the festival, they overheard a gathering of locals who seemed agitated. It seems that some owlbears were raiding the larders at Edermath Orchard, and Daran was trying to stir up a mob to hunt them. Daskan, offended by this display of bloodlust for innocent creatures, stepped in to intercede. He offered to track the owlbears and see if he could use his druid skills to convince them to move on peacefully. Daran agreed, but still offered a bounty of 10 gp per owlbear head they brought back.

And so they staked out the orchard and, shortly after nightfall, saw a large owlbear stalking through the trees. Daskan approached it and used his spells to communicate. As he did so, however, he noticed a familiar pattern in its feathers and a large scar on one of its forearms. It seems this was the same owlbear the group had encountered previously and convinced to help attack the orc raiders!

It seems that he and his mate, along with a few other couples, had nested nearby and cannot move on until their eggs hatch and needed food. Daskan offered their assistance in relocating, saying the group could carry the eggs and help them gather materials to construct new nests nearer to Tresendar Manor and Alderleaf Farm. They would then arrange for regular food to be put out behind the farm so they did not need to forage for themselves or bother the residents of Phandalin.

The team split up, with Ander going back to town to notify the mob in the bar of the new arrangements. He then went on to Alderleaf Farm (since he was friendly with Qelline and Carp, his fellow halflings) and proposed the unusual business arrangement. A very lengthy discussion ensued regarding the amount of food necessary, what a balanced owlbear diet looked like, how long it would take until the eggs hatched, and how much all of this would cost.

(DM’S NOTE: seriously, we busted out calculators and had to research how much bears ate and the gestation period of owl eggs, etc…it took at least 20 minutes)

While he did this, the others successfully relocated the owlbear colony into the woods near the Manor.

The following morning, they finally departed Phandalin with the jewelers’ wagon. Almost immediately, an observant Sedoris noticed that they were being followed by a group trying to keep a discrete distance behind their wagon. But when Ser Winstrock started back to confront them, the group scattered to hide in the woods. Daskan decided to turn into a bear so he could lag behind the group and see if he might get the drop on them, but the group did not reappear that day. At night, however, the group of bandits attempted to break into the wagon. Ander was on watch and noticed this, raising the alarm. The startled bandits drew their weapons and the party attacked. Sha’shi’ immediately obliterated all but three of the bandits with a single fireball. The rest were dispatched quickly by Winstrock and Daskan, with the leader being subdued and tied up.

Questioning him to see if they were sent by someone or were part of a larger plot, Sha’shi’ may have gone a bit overboard with her intimidation and the weeping bandit was soon cowering in extremely soiled breeches. She made him strip naked and present his sword to Jambep and Habkip in apology, then forced him to depart into the dark with nothing.

The following day, they crested a hill only to see a stone giant blocking their path on the other side. This was the first opportunity for Daskan to try out his new ability to summon beasts, and he set two large brown bears on the giant as a distraction. This succeeded beyond all expectations and the giant was soon toppled.

Unfortunately that was not the end of the excitement. The following night they had to deal with a wandering troll, but the next day, as they got closer to the Neverwinter and Thundertree area, they looked up during their march to see their old foe Venomfang descending from the sky.

Ander immediately sprang into action to extract Jambep and Habkip from the wagon and get them as far away from the battle as possible. Yelling, “This is that asshole we told you about,” to a terrified Sedoris, the rest of the party was unfortunately caught in another sweep of Venomfang’s poison breath. Poor Droop once again fell, but the rest endured and rushed forward to surround the dragon when as he landed.

Daskan summoned bears once again to assist and distract, which was once again very successful. Sha’shi’ unleashed her fireball while the rest hacked away at close range, Ser Winstrock ironically attacking with the very axe he stole from Venomfang’s horde in Thundertree, which he drove into the dragon’s neck to end its life.

Some shaken gnomes were led back to the wagon by Ander only to witness Sha’shi’ tearing open the dragon’s torso to eat its still-warm heart. The entire party claimed various trophies like scales and teeth. Finally, they triumphantly resumed the last short leg of their journey and arrived at the south gate of Neverwinter, much to the alarm of the guards as these bloodsoaked folks asked to be granted entry.

Dropping off the jewelers at their shop, they finally revealed the group’s reward for their heroic services: two magic rings. One was given to Daskan to protect his mind from evil psychic forces, the other to Ser Winstrock to allow him to leap great distances and overcome the limitations of his small dwarf legs to more efficiently dive into the chaos of battle.

Continuing through the Blacklake District, they arrived in the large square containing the Rockseeker shop, as well as a temple of Moradin that the gate guard had told Winstrock was in this area and the House of a Thousand Faces. They decided to stop in with the Rockseekers immediately, and were welcomed into the shop by Kristrid and Artin.

They listened intently to the group’s recap of events and read the letter from their brothers. It seems they were unaware of the loss of Tharden and excused themselves, apparently overwhelmed with emotion. Upon returning, however, Sha’shi’ got a strange vibe from them, feeling they were a bit too eager to assist their brothers who they seemed to dislike so much (they had abandoned the family business to go off on what the rest of the clan viewed as a fool’s errand in search of a myth). Asking for a moment of privacy, the sisters agreed and retreated again to the back room (Ser Winstrock’s awkward flirtation attempts were unsuccessful).

Daskan immediately transformed into a rat and shimmied under the door to spy on the sisters in case they revealed anything of their intentions. This worked out perfectly, and he overheard their plans to usurp the mines from the brothers, reasoning that they belong to the family, fair compensation for their shirking their responsibilities for years. They also wanted to “get rid of” the adventurers at the first opportunity, though what exactly that meant was unclear. He quickly returned to the party to inform them just before the sisters returned.

Unfortunately, attempts to secure a supplemental contract from the sisters to ensure that the original contract from the brothers would be honored were rebuffed. Negotiations quickly broke down, and the sisters refused to return the list of supplies and such that the brothers had written (they assured everyone they would handle it).

The group chose to retreat and discuss these developments and attack anew in the morning. They crossed the square and entered the temple of Moradin, where they met the cleric Androsli Barreldigger. Winstrock seemed to perk up instantly and arranged that they would stay at the temple while they were in Neverwinter. They were shown to their rooms (Winstrock oblivious to obvious signals from Androsli…) and they arranged to post a watch in the hallway in case the sisters chose to “get rid of them” in the night.

The next morning, Winstrock did finally make a move over breakfast and it seemed he probably couldn’t count on a full long rest for any of the future nights spent at the temple.

They stopped off at the House of a Thousand Faces briefly to deliver Sister Garaele’s research to the agents there, the elven sister and brother Theryis and Toram (now it was Sedoris’ turn to perk up like Winstrock…). They were grateful for their service and reviewed their findings. Toram was intrigued by the mention of Tsernoth, whose name he had seen mentioned in his own research. It seems Tsernoth had attempted to seize power in Iraebor around the time that he acquired Bowgentle’s tome, but a party of adventurers drove him out and he was last known to be in the area of Triboar and Yartar. They would appreciate the party investigating things further if they end up in that area. Asking the elves if they were able to read the writing on their map, they only got a confirmation it is Deep Speech but they cannot understand it.

Finally returning to the Rockseeker sisters, the party decided to take a new approach: Giving Ander and Winstrock their letter of credit and signet ring, they sent Sedoris and Sha’shi’ in to negotiate, thinking perhaps the women could be more successful without the men around (especially Winstrock with his clumsy flirtations).

Daskan, meanwhile, again transformed into a rat and hid in Sedoris’ bag, intending to sneak off to the back room again and search for the list that had not been returned to them.

This approach was partially successful. Daskan did not find the list, but the women were indeed successful. At first they were not making any headway, but they changed tack midway and decided to intimidate and threaten them. Sedoris informed them that the men were out “shopping”. Without the list in hand, they would likely spend far more than they need to, since they had to guess at what was needed. Sha’shi’ used her magic to send a message to the men to “buy stuff” in front of them.

The sisters initially argued that they would simply refuse to pay when the bills came in, but were convinced that this would do significant damage to the reputation and credit of the Rockseeker organization. They finally broke down when faced with financial ruin and admitted their plot.

They promised to draw up the requested documentation and said they were in fact organizing the requested supplies and workers. The latter could be ready in a week, with the supplies taking about three weeks to purchase. It was decided the party would stay in the city until everything is ready, given their experience with giants and dragons and bandits on the way there.

Returning outside (Daskan coming via an alley where he could transform back), they were waved over by the guys who had some news: they received the “buy stuff” message as they were eating at the pretzel cart in the square and immediately bought the entire business! They want to move the cart (and its owner, Snyder Hanover) down to the shop they’ll be setting up in Tresendar Manor eventually.

They filled one another in on all of these developments and decided their next step was to secure their own independent lawyer to ensure the sisters didn’t try any shenanigans, then find some work to do while they wait for the workers and supplies are assembled for the trip back to Phandalin.

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ive-always-been-a-pirate · 7 years

Text

The Other Prince + A CS Modern Royal AU [Chapter 3]

Modern Royalty AU: HRH Prince Killian has grown up in the shadow of the crown while enduring tragedy and the burdens of being the spare to the heir. With a desire to escape his past, he agrees to play host to the visiting general's daughter in exchange for an eventual life outside royal bounds. Moving on is never that easy though and he quickly learns that being the 'other' prince is even more difficult when you find yourself falling for the girl everyone wants your brother to marry.

Catch Up On Previous Chapters: One, Two Also on FF.net and AO3.

Word Count: 5,064

Alright, here's the next Killian chapter! Lots of backstory and setting the stage for what’s coming - I know a lot of you are anxious for Killian and Emma to meet and I promise, it’s coming! Stick with me :]

The route to the palace was a familiar one and Killian wagered little had changed since the first time a driver escorted him from Kensington to the heart of Westminster. The streets of metropolitan London were busily lined with citizens taking full advantage of the near noon bustle, scurrying along to various shops and pausing for late breakfasts at any one of the various cafes found in the downtown district. Their lives seemed casual and enviously simple, a fact that Killian tried not to harbor on as he stared out the window of the unmarked black car Liam had sent for him. It was highly likely that his dutiful brother was already well immersed in whatever task list a future king gets handed when he shows up at Her Majesty's headquarters very bright and far too early.

Such a stubborn arse, Killian thought as he ran a hand over his unamused eyes. It was probably for the best that the Queen was part way around the globe for now. The absence of their lovable yet all too proper Gran and the steaming cup of coffee Marco had brought along were the only two things lending him luck at the moment.

"Around to the back gate, your highness?"

"Aye," Killian nodded, glancing up toward the rear view mirror with an arched brow. "But are we ever going to agree on you calling me 'Killian'? I'd thought we were well beyond formalities by now, mate."

He caught the humored smile of the man in the driver's seat via the reflective overhead glass, accompanied with familiar eyes set in typical analysis and a beard almost all white as a reminder of just how long the loyal confidante had been chauffeuring the royal family around. Marco was a former carpenter and had come from Italy right around the time of the last elaborate royal wedding, beginning his work initially in one of the palace's many gardens on instructed maintenance and upkeep. It hadn't taken long for the flower loving and recently wed princess to prod him into an unlikely friendship, one that was built around what blossomed on royal grounds but eventually extended into a bond akin to family.

Killian had heard many tales of those simpler times from Marco on their countless drives together, his favorite including a time when building a royal crib suddenly became a request for the man who was more accustomed to being asked to pull weeds. He had told Killian so much about his mother over the years - how she lovingly bossed him around when it was time to select what to plant for spring, how she'd all but demanded that he attend every holiday banquet as an esteemed guest of their family, and how he'd helped her learn bits of conversational Italian while escorting her between the regal grounds and whatever location she was destined for. It was this kindly man who'd migrated to London only a few decades earlier who had been instrumental in their lives for a number of critical years, certainly long enough to see the high points and the extremely low ones. He'd claimed teasingly several times that there were very few rides more unpleasant than the time he drove the royal couple and their second newborn baby boy - one with 'strong lungs and even stronger opinions on London traffic' - home from St. Mary's on a very snowy January morning.

Killian tried often not to think about how another more devastating trip fell into the 'very few' category. Marco had been asked to escort two young princes that sad day almost fifteen years ago to the same hospital for a very different reason - one that quickly defined tragedy for all of them. His trying wasn't usually successful and today, he quickly learned, would be no different.

"Beautiful day outside today, sir," Marco commented with a nod toward the regal building. "I trust you're planning to make the most of it?"

"Aye," Killian sighed. "Always do."

The longtime royal chauffeur was like clockwork, always refusing to drop the formalities and always offering the same simple statement as he pulled up to one of the palace's many concealed enough entrances. They were words Killian had heard for years now - mostly in a resounding reminiscence - and ones he'd always struggled to take into account, despite what he'd just told Marco.

Make the most of every new day, my stubborn little prince.

Yes, his driver's encouragement sounded similar to something his mother would have prompted him with all that time ago, but as years went by, he started to notice that he couldn't be completely sure just what exactly she used to say. The memories were fading more as time carried on, her voice becoming softer in his lonely mind.

He dreaded that realization. He couldn't bear the idea of losing those last pieces of her - not when he still needed the comfort of his recollections the way he always had and not when the echoes of his mother were the only thing that made this place still feel like home.

"I've told Liam to let me know the schedule for the day once the morning gets all….straightened out," Marco said, clearly at a loss for the appropriately easy phrasing as he hit the unlock button. "Happy to take you home whenever you're ready, your highness. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer for me to get the door-"

"I've got it," Killian answered as he gave up the name battle and shoved the car door open. "I'll let you know when we're done. I'm guessing it won't be long at all."

The man's nod was slight as Killian rose from the leather backseat with little optimism, the gravel under his feet crunching while his eyes darted toward one of the distant gates. He grumbled a bit at the sight of lingering paparazzi and strode to the door in hopes of avoidance. The cameras flashing from beyond the barriers and a few faint calls of his name were surprisingly easy to ignore as he moved out of sight.

Well, at least he wouldn't have to face that type of annoying confrontation. He would never be lucky enough to escape the other sort - the kind waiting in the open entryway in the form of his sharp dressed and almost always critical brother.

"Well, you're looking a little better."

Killian fought the urge to glare at him as he all but stomped inside. Despite Liam's curt and somewhat condescending tone, he knew that he had cleaned up quite nice. He'd gotten dressed in a bit of a rush after standing in his conflicted shower for far too long and he had been immediately grateful to notice that his irritatingly attentive sibling had sent over some fresh dry cleaning that morning - a navy blue button down and some well tailored jeans that were still probably pushing it as far as the royal dress code was concerned. He'd been grateful for his ability to look the part of prestigious prince despite his terribly rough evening as he hurried out the door not long earlier, his hands quickly foregoing the execution of an expected Windsor knot with the tie he'd decided not to wear.

Not today, he'd decided after a final look in the mirror before tossing the striped fabric onto his dresser. He wasn't out to impress anyone.

"Too bad the same can't be said for your mood, but I'll take what I can get," Liam taunted, nodding absently to the side. "Alright, brother, while we don't have time for-"

"I am well aware of what the clock says and just how much she hates waiting, Liam," he replied sharply. "Now let's get this over with."

He'd no sooner headed for the central hallway when he caught a glimpse of her in the not too distant doorway, his brother's footsteps faltering behind his own. She was put together ostentatiously, the combination of her detailed black blouse and a deep red jeweled necklace offset only by the predatory look on her face. The sight of another woman standing where his mother should have been always made his eyes burn, but it never did change.

With a slight grimace, Killian began to move toward the woman who frankly had no business even being a part of their scheduled brunch - Cora, the deemed Duchess of his father's peerage and his consequential stepmother.

"Well, good morning, boys - so wonderful to see you both," she commented firmly, a hint of venom in her stare as she alluded to her apparent eavesdropping. "We weren't sure you'd make it given the past twelve….very interesting hours."

It had always been easy to bequeath her as the villain of some lost fairytale and adding an 'evil' to her title was often far too tempting for Killian. Liam was better at turning a blind eye to the woman who'd swooped in to nurse their father's broken spirit not long after the tragic loss of his wife, but Killian had spent plenty of time cataloging the quiet damage she'd so carefully created for nearly twelve years now. With everything from the decline of his father's health to her ways of subtly devaluing everything the beloved departed princess had built, it had become almost impossible to trust her or the motives she likely had. Killian still wasn't sure how the public had learned to accept her as his mother's replacement, but she'd managed to gain respect through use of her dishonest charm and the sob story of her deceased first husband. The woman had a way with earning sympathy and it was something she'd always taken full advantage of.

There was a definitely a reason she'd been quickly deemed the Queen of Hearts by the people, but it was only the royal family that knew just how appropriate the name actually was.

"We'd never intend to miss out," Liam answered for both of them, his smile nervous as he nodded toward their father's second wife. "Apologies if we're late."

"None necessary, my dear," Cora replied as she glanced in Killian's direction. "We'll save those kinds of formalities for other matters."

The words were icy as ever, but they sparked a burning fire deep within him - the kind that seemed to always simmer and then spike when he was in the presence of the woman who'd surely piss him off before the morning became afternoon. Killian tried not to meet her persistent stare as he passed by, his shoulder almost bumping hers as he walked into the large dining area where they'd shared several tense meals before.

The bright room was busy with several familiar servants who'd obviously been prepping the beautifully accented space with red linens and crystal glasses all morning. The seating was limited for this particular occasion and the dark walnut table held only a fraction of its usual gold decor and antique candlesticks. Fresh white roses had been left at the center of the wood surface and Killian noted silently that such a thing would have made his grandmother quite happy.

She always did love gifts from the palace's endless gardens - much like another royal woman once had. Watching Cora fiddle with the arrangement briefly in irritation was further proof of how drastically opposite she was of the women Killian cared greatly for and it didn't take long to surmise just how much that was about to infuriate him.

"Your father should be down soon - one of the doctors stopped by to quickly check in on him," she explained, trying to catch Killian's participating eyes. "Coffee, Killian? You….seem like you could use it."

Feeling his fingers flinch at his sides as they tried to resist the fists he was tempted to make, he ignored the warning in his brother's stare and instead met Cora's goading gaze. They'd come to secure the plans for the upcoming weekend's annual Royal Navy gala and that discussion was not going to start a feud if Liam's cautioned expression was any indication.

Just brunch, Killian reminded himself as he exhaled calmly.

"Sounds great," he finally said, taking the chair closest to the door. "If it's not too much trouble."

Cora smirked conspicuously before waving over one of the workers currently waiting for orders. No, it obviously wasn't much trouble for her to take to bossing the staff around despite the lack of their fragile father's presence, but maintaining a calm facade as she did so with that dominating glare might be - and Killian could only pray that he'd be able to get out of there before the actual impending trouble evolved.

Well, he'd tried - he truly had. Convincing himself of such a conclusion wasn't holding much reassurance though as Killian strode angrily out of the first floor dining room, but he was struggling to care as he shook his head in well known frustration.

Damn that woman and her ability to push all the wrong buttons - and damn his temper for being unable to tolerate it.

His slightly louder than necessary feet carried him down the long corridor that led out to the gardens, his steps purposeful and quick as his head pounded. Sure, the lingering effects of his long night had already put him in an irritable state, but fighting his mood in regards to his line crossing stepmother wasn't a recent undertaking. They'd been on hostile ground for years and the possibility of all out war seemed to always hang in the air despite the interferences of Liam or their ailing father.

Killian had little desire to exist in even the shadow of the crown, but the hottest parts of hell would most certainly freeze over before he'd ever let Cora wear it.

He had done his best to quell the fury in his veins throughout the course of their morning meal, trying to focus on the snippets of political this and that his brother was offering the table rather than addressing the multiple other topics waiting to be braved. It was nice to see his father in a fairly optimal state, only a dark layer of stubble covering his face and a slight cough suggesting that he'd been worse for the wear lately. Weathering more bad days as his poor condition progressed was something several doctors had told them all to prepare for, but Killian had mostly left that optimism to Liam while he tried to distract himself from Cora's judgemental expression. He'd done okay, eating enough to keep his stomach stable and sipping at a new cup of coffee as he waited for dismissal.

Unfortunately, those departing words didn't arrive before Cora decided to overstep the bounds she still didn't appear to understand. The defensive retort and subsequent act of storming out may have been a bit dramatic on his part, but enduring silently while she brought up the possibility of canceling a scheduled crucial event that he and Liam had been planning for a year wasn't something he could manage. She'd innocently claimed it was in light of the unexpected attention the family had just gathered courtesy of his wild night out, but the purpose behind her cruel conversation was pretty obvious.

She wanted him to react. She wanted him to be what half of London probably assumed he was - the rebellious royal son of the ailing heir apparent who still couldn't keep his temper in check after years of demonstrating just that. An incoming phone call for his father announced by one of the palace staff had given Killian an out and he'd taken it with a quick rise from his chair and a final, frustrated glance at the bold woman who seemed so keen on complicating his life.

"I know it means a lot to you both, but a memorial gala for your mother at a time like this will only give the public a chance to question the rather….inappropriate choices you're both unfortunately being judged for. I realize you've spent a lot of time arranging it, but holding a large event seems unwise to me given the attention recently shed on this family. I doubt that's what she'd want-"

He hadn't stuck around to hear the rest, his own halting voice cutting off hers angrily before he left the room. Cora didn't know anything about his mother or what she'd want and whatever made her think she had the right to assume anything wasn't something he could confront calmly. He'd left in a huff, but it was for the best - or so he hoped.

The walk hadn't amounted to much by the time Killian felt his pace slow. He hadn't meant for it to, merely needing to cool his nerves and create some necessary distance after the harsh exchange. He'd just reached the side exit of the long hallway when his clumsy foot tripped quickly over a corner of one of the palace's elaborate burgundy rugs - and maybe his hastily tied shoelace. The graceless move caused him to stumble slightly and after letting out a frustrated grumble of frustration, Killian plodded over to a familiar velvet tufted bench. The red material was smooth beneath him and his hand traced the grooves of the intricate stitching as he glared down at the canvas laces of his oxfords. Annoyance battled embarrassment as he reached down to tie them up while letting out a quiet curse or two. It didn't take long to do something so simple - and it took even less time for his eyes to meet the opposite wall, confirming his exact location.

Of course he'd end up here.

It was almost startling just how automatically he'd picked the route out of the palace that would lead him to pass by this particular spot. It was a well known path and one he'd chosen time after time while visiting Buckingham as a boy. Killian pursed his lips as he recalled the story surrounding the bench he was currently stationed on. He'd always loved hearing his mother recount that tale - the one about her overly curious five year old who explored every inch of the royal grounds until he eventually wound up face to face with one of history's bravest kings. Well, a portrait of him anyway.

She had always held such adoring wonder in her eyes when she told Killian of how she'd found him gazing up in mesmerizing awe at the towering collaboration of paint and historical legend that was King Richard I. Killian had never been able to fully recall that first encounter with the painting of one of England's most notorious kings, but it hardly mattered - his mother did that well enough for both of them.

He was never completely sure how she could have come to know quite so much about the fearless, controversial leader that had captivated her youngest son, but evidence from a few afternoons of research was held together in books piled high on the shelves in his father's Kensington office - her determination to learn of the fearless man's life a task she took on until she could recite his biography with adept accuracy. She'd done just that each time they'd journeyed to the palace, inevitably making their way to the company of that coveted artwork. Her words in those moments were ones he held onto with precious might, the stories resounding in Killian's mind even after all these years.

The man on the wall had been a courageous king - a militant leader and a warrior with fierce beliefs and bravery rivaling most others, she'd told him. He had a wild spirit that struggled to be tamed despite constant critique from his consorts though and his impulsivity often took the best of him, invoking a rebellion against his father from a young age and leading him into a life of warfare he'd never escaped. The stubbornness that seemed to hinder the young king - his mother had explained with a knowing look in her gaze - kept him from accepting the love of his family at times and pushed him into a world of loneliness Killian had to empathize.

It had taken some time over the years to piece together what she was truly saying, her comforting arms holding him close as she'd offered what eventually seemed like a paralleled warning. The questions he'd asked were ones he couldn't forget and they echoed through his memory each time he studied the man in the royal colors trapped within the painting.

"So he was always alone?"

"Well, not always - but mostly yes I suppose. He didn't have to be though."

"Did the people like him?"

"I like to think so. He was never the most honorable or favored of King Henry's sons, but he was fearless in protecting his kingdom - a bit relentless like someone else I know."

Killian smirked, knowing now that she had been referring to him all along. He and the historical king were perhaps a lot alike - a fact that became more obvious as time marched on and a comparison he'd come to treasure, even if it wasn't the best role model to value..

"I kind of like him though, mama, even if he wasn't always the best."

"Well, all great men have flaws, but they can always choose a proper path, son. It might not be right all the time, but the history and beauty are in those imperfections."

"Do you think one day I'll be a hero, mama? Like he tried to be?"

"I think you'll be even better, Killian. Just remember who you are - a leader of your country, even if people don't always believe in you."

"I'll never be king though, mama. That's Liam's job."

"But you'll always be something just as important, my sweet boy. You'll be a loving brother and my son, two labels a royal man can wear proudly."

An emptiness filled his mind as he followed the details of the picture with his distracted eyes - the red cloak with its gold trim, the blue uniform, the bold crown set atop a warrior's armor - and reveled in the words of his mother's final sentiment. It was what she'd often called him up until the day she had left without a fair fight and forgetting the loving sound of her voice during those little moments was high on his list of fears.

"So you think people will like me as much as Liam?"

"I know they will, my little Lionheart."

My little Lionheart, he thought silently once more as his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes began to hurt with painful silence. It hadn't been wise to find this somewhat hidden spot after the argument he'd nearly just fallen into. It wasn't fair to chance sullying such a fond yet painful memory while regret and fury battled within his broken soul, but where else could he have gone?

He couldn't avoid the opportunity to retreat to the one place in the palace that had always made things seem alright in the past - even if the unfair realization he'd be doing so alone now wasn't exactly encouraging.

"Should have known I'd find you here."

The voice was sudden yet unmistakeable and Killian let out a breath as his blinked back the moisture almost clouding his eyes. He knew he wouldn't get far before someone came hunting for him, though he'd truly expected it to be a rather irate Liam. The alternative was definitely surprising, but as he glanced to the side with an expression he hoped wasn't too guilty, Killian realized that the company he was about to gain was some he hadn't had for a while now.

"Dad," he acknowledged quietly with a nod as he fought the urge to fidget. "Sorry, I, uh….just needed some air."

"Well, you picked a good spot, my boy," his father replied earnestly, his smile calm and perhaps even understanding as he turned toward the painting. "You've always seen him as fit to confide in."

"Ah," Killian almost laughed, his focus on the artwork straight ahead. "Because I'm the defiant son and we have so much in common?"

"Well, Richard here may have led an uprising or two against his father, but I suppose he had his reasons for such actions," the elder man said with his own slight chuckle. "As I'm sure you do too."

Killian smirked without a reply finding its way to their cautious conversation. Chancing an actual look at the man before him was as difficult as it had always been, the effects of an escalating sickness making the once strong and easy going heir look nothing less than exhausted. The stages of defeat had arrived sporadically over the years - everything from the stress of two cardiac arrest episodes to the initial pain of a slowly failing heart diagnosis. The evolving symptoms had taken a heavy toll on the man who was set to inherit the throne as well as the family at his side. It would always be hard to observe the declining health of the man Killian once believed to be unbreakable. It wasn't fixable either and the failure of attempting multiple options to do so had created a thick tension in their relationship.

Nobody could change the conclusion that his father was dying so they did the only thing they could to carry on - they didn't talk about it.

"I know you don't always see eye to eye with Cora," his father started, his tone calm and caring. "But eventually the crusade has got to hit a halt, my boy."

"I….I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but I….I won't ever give up on protecting mum's legacy, Dad."

"I know, I know, and I'd dare say she'd be unbelievably proud of you for it," his father said with reassurance. "You've got that same wildly stubborn spirit she had, son, and I don't want you to change that. I just….your grandmother's annual Navy gala this weekend is a rather big deal as you know. We've got a few visitors arriving soon that will be guests of the palace and the royal family. I guess I'm hoping I might be able to reasonably request a few days of ceasefire while we show some hospitality?"

An internal groan was almost impossible to stifle as Killian thought about the impending obligation of suiting up to play proud prince for the public. Royal events were rarely his cup of tea and the fact that this once was Royal Navy related only made his dread that much worse. Yes, It was an odd way of asking for something so simple, but Killian wasn't surprised by his father's calm way of approaching the subject of a truce. The strange sense of optimism woven into the man's weathered spirit would probably never fade, a fact that would always seem senseless given the pale skin and labored breathing that was quite characteristic now.

"I suppose that's fair," Killian conceded, biting his lip as he turned toward the ailing man at his side. "But about the memorial-"

"I'd never let anyone cancel that, son," his dad told him with a soft clap of his shoulder. "Honoring your mother is something I'll alway support. Just let things simmer down for a few days and Cora will too. There's still a couple of weeks until then, right?"

Killian nodded as a hint of relief swept over him. He'd worked alongside his brother to set up the arrangements for the milestone event marking fifteen years since his mother's death and while the support of his father wasn't totally necessary, there was definitely something to be said about the realization that they had it. Watching the hint of a smile cross his the man's lips as he seemed to absorb a memory of the woman their words were now centered around was an easy way to confirm that perhaps his father's heart still held a place for that loss.

"I miss her too, son," he offered, almost as if he'd known what Killian was thinking. "Every single day."

The admission hit him square in the stomach, the well known words making his body ache as he fought back the reply waiting in his throat. You don't act like it, he thought silently before he shoved the response to the back of his mind. Such a retort wasn't fair in a moment like this, even if it was true.

Maybe he wasn't lying. Maybe he really did miss her. Maybe it was just easier for him to pretend he didn't.

"Yeah," Killian said softly. "I know."

The moment was honest and somewhat rare as far as Killian's interactions went with his father. The man seemed to prefer leaving the royal requests to Liam as of late and rarely asked Killian for much anymore, a bit of information that prodded Killian into retreat as he decided being an obedient son for a weekend wasn't that big of an ask. After all, he didn't know how many more instances he'd have like this - ones where his father's health was decent enough for them to have a candid yet motivated chat.

Meeting him halfway was the least he could do.

"Just….tell me you'll try, son."

Catching his father's sideways glance, Killian nodded with a receptive smile. It was difficult not to think of the appeal as a wish for a dying man. It was even harder to accept the reality that it might be.

"Alright then," his father sighed, tilting his head forward to gesture toward the nearby side doors. "Your brother is waiting for you - I suppose you'll want these."

Killian's eyebrow rose briefly as two black and blue rugby cleats were tossed onto his lap. He grinned quietly after a moment, his fingers toying with the recently replaced laces. Running his fingers over the shiny spikes, he mused at the idea of his brother's plan for anger management.

"I'm not even going to ask what he's got planned, but he mentioned Twickenham," his father smirked as he stood carefully with a wink. "So don't tear up the grass too bad and see if you can earn a reasonable excuse for that beat up lip, alright? Save me an explanation to your grandmother."

"Aye," Killian replied with a slight smile. "I'll see what I can do."

Tagging some lovely people: @optomisticgirl (thank you for the beta assistance, my friend), @themmaswan, @xpumpkindumplingx, @spartanguard, @harryandthecambridges, @eala-captian, @allietumbles, @kmomof4, @laschatzi, @galadriel26, @timeless-love-story, @lifeinahole27, @kat2609, @msres, @all0of0the0usernames, @captainswanismyendgame, @lovelycssefan, @hooksheroicheart, @irishcaptainodonoghue, @gonzothegreat90, @cat-sophia, @rebelcxptain, @prairiepirate, @yesplskillianjones, @jennjenn615, @xhookswenchx, @heomomka, @fckyesroyals, @lenfazreads, @cherrywolf713, @lucasxdorothy, @hollyethecurious, @fairytalesandtimetravel, @lillyanjones, @pirateherokillian, @shipsxahoy, @phiralovesloki, @jscoutfinch

*If there’s anyone who’d like a tag in future chapters, just let me know :)

#cs ff #cs au ff #cs royal au #prince!killian #cs fic update #killian jones #emma swan #liam jones #captain swan #the other prince

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amourete-blog1 · 7 years

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(( i don’t get to interact with as many people as i’d like to but if you’re ever looking to interact with more ancestors: (this got long so i put a cut)

handmaid: @moegidos - a young handmaid, but still a handmaid. wonderful, precious cinnamon roll who deserves so much. easy to relate/talk to even if your character isn’t an ancestor. mun (jubilee) is a sweetheart, 10/10

summoner: @pupapanofficial - he’s a fucking emo punk nerd i have nothing more to say. just kidding, i do: this summoner is currently in the midst of his rebellion. character combines serious events of alternian history with a reckless nerd of a leader with too-big horns. great for laughs and memes, but also holds a lot of potential for srs stuff. mun (jade) is one of the most patient and talented writers i know.

psiioniic/helmsman: @tabescentabasement - will i ever get tired of talking abt this character? sources say no. this helmsman is dead - or at least last time i checked? shrodinger’s helmsman - and yet so full of life it’s unbelievable. he started out stiff and “automated” and has since developed a more personal voice as he’s tried to open up to people. all of the meme-loving ridiculousness of mituna captor, now with more dorkiness and a tragic past. mun (bamf) is so kind and patient it’s absolutely unbelievable. their writing is top-notch. @h3lm5m4n - this one is a sideblog from @bamf-main. this helmsman is currently on HIC’s ship, part of the ship, and communicates with the user as sassily as a computerized troll can - which is to say, very sassily. again, mun (bamf) does a wonderful job at combining humor with serious subject matter.

signless: @roseredmutant - “lil” is just about the furthest thing from the fanon signless you could possibly imagine, but that’s because he was purposefully designed that way. this signless takes a lot of influence from alpha kankri vantas. he retains all his memories of his previous life on beforus and it impacts him in profound ways. he’s the biggest little shit you’ll ever see, but he still has the spark of revolution that is so much a part of the signless as a character. mun (mj) and i have known each other from before i joined the tumblr crowd, they’re sweet as hell, incredibly talented and very relaxing to rp with. @hereticalsym69ls - xanthe is a resurrected signless, long after his execution, who just wants to be left alone, please give this troll a fucking break. his timeline incorporates a lot of biblical influence to match the “troll jesus” story we’re given from canon. he’s a simple carpenter who loves bad fashion and memes. mun (sel) is creative and hilarious, definitely one of the best signless rpers i’ve encountered in all my time rping ancestors.

disciple: @nemaeus - i don’t interact with them personally but i see them quite a lot through mutual... mutuals. this disciple has a lot of fire to her and that’s so nice to see. she’s bold and takes no shit, but has also shown herself to be kind and loving towards people she cares for. @nyanclaw - A lighthearted take on a post-execution Disciple, currently aiding the rebellion efforts of a Summoner. All of Meulin’s horrible puns, Alternyan edition!

dolorosa: @gentleaegis - this dolorosa combines carrie fisher’s online “voice” with a well-intentioned parent that can’t use a computer to save their life, and it’s the most beautiful thing. she will take approximately 0 (no) shit. she lived, died, and has been revived, and puts a very “real” and “tangible” life into the bare-bones story we’re given in canon. mun (jade) is a big nerd. also the mun of pupapanofficial. @genesisaberrance - she is the omni-mom. momni. this dolorosa, currently dead and without her own family, kind of just adopts the people she meets in need of motherly guidance. as would befit a maryam she also 110% capable of kicking your ass 7 ways to sunday and will not hesitate to do so. mun is very kind and fun the times we’ve spoken, i enjoy writing with them when i do!

redglare: @littleredridingglare - i can put a redglare here now! w h o o p! “little red,” as she is affectionately called, is 8′ of Attitude smushed into a 5′ troll. she’s smart, she’s sassy, and she’s completely devoted to justice and “right,” even as she struggles to understand what “right” really is. mun (jj) also runs riddlesinpaint and is absolutely phenomenal, their doodles are quirky and fun and their characters even more so.

mindfang: same as with redglare, but i actually remember a url this time: @8uccaneer - don’t have personal experience with them, but they interact with neato and i’ve seen them in more casual settings (streams, etc) a couple of times, and from just those it’s been pretty easy to pick up light conversation with their character.

darkleer: @crepuxulum - let me tell you about dhanus. let me just... listen. resurrected darkleer, brought to the present and kicked in the shins by life, learns to confront his past (slowly, very slowly) and create a better future. he’s got all the stubbornness of a horse and all the goofiness we find endearing about equius, except he’s genuinely trying to be “Good(tm)”. doesn’t know what memes are. mun (hannah) is so sweet, writes a lot of humor into their character, and their writing is to die for. listen... listen. @indulgentarcher - although far removed from canon, dilwyn is a darkleer. he regrets his past an has tried to move on since then. he’s like your good guy parent figure, trying to look out for all these rambunctious kids, with some memes and jokes in-between. mun (feather) is fun and lighthearted with their characters, we’ve had some great discussion and i love rping with them.

grand highblood: @riddlesinpaint - riddles is fucking great. riddz meshes “villain trying to become better” with “clown” with “vaguely(?) unsettling vibe” in a way that keeps you engaged and on your toes. he posts a lot to the dashboard so he’s very easy to interact with. chill former highblood just wants to have a cool day. mun (jj) is warm, friendly and welcoming, very easy to talk to, very enthusiastic about what they do. @amusedmuralist - a really interesting take on a character we don’t know much at all about. muralist’s ic speech patterns are very unique. haven’t interacted as much as i should, but the mun is a wonderful writer and extremely thoughtful about the world they’ve built around their character.

dualscar: @trolljacksparrow - nadaya stands out here because he is actually a hemoflip dualscar. he’s also fucking awesome. escaped slave runs regular, dangerous, rebellious raids in a timeline out for his head and will stop at fucking nothing. for what? nothing in particular. he just won’t fucking stop. he’s full of energy 25 hours out of the day, super endearing and very fun to rp with. mun (emm) is the fucking best, easy to talk to and fantastic to write with. @caepaecaesurae - a post-game dualscar that has meshed with his beforan self, from what i can tell. big weenie, tries not to pick sides and isn’t always successful. i don’t know if i’d call him morally gray but he’s definitely got something under mostly-benevolent intentions. mun (wirp) has been kind and cordial the few times we’ve spoken, i love rping with them. @seahorsegun - czunah gets an honorable mention here because he’s the biggest nerd. multilingual, smart as hell, doesn’t give half a shit about anything except the people that have forcefully broken down his walls and made him care about them. (effort. ugh.) very much your typical salty old sailor, except now he lives in space. hates his job. hates everything. mun (mj) is also the mun of roseredmutant and i still love them.

hic: @sugary-empress - and the crown jewel: tyfora. sugary is fucking hilarious. she’s bad, don’t get me wrong, but she’s really fucking funny while she does it. trickster!condescension, only wants to be “good” so people leave her the fuck alone, doesn’t actually understand the ramifications of most of her actions because she’s been privileged all her life and listen. listen. i love her. mun (skylar) is the actual nicest ever, knows their character is bad and isn’t afraid to write them bad. i really admire them for that and honestly just... if you can handle her, sugary is such a wonderful character to interact with, an absolute joy made of sugar candy and questionable intentions.

#ooc post #/#//#///#////#ancestors masterpost #tagging that to find it later #ANYWAY HERE'S SOME RECS #people i've interacted with - for the most part - and really enjoyed writing with #these got longer as i went on im so sorry

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touristguidebuzz · 7 years

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U.S. Destinations Preparing For Overtourism Burst During Total Solar Eclipse

Cities such as Madras, Oregon in the path of next month's total solar eclipse are preparing for large influxes of tourists eager to experience the spectacle. Amy Meredith / Flickr

Skift Take: Cities like Madras, Oregon and others in the path of next month's total solar eclipse have lessons to offer other destinations about hosting once-in-a-lifetime events and the kinds of decisions and processes that it takes to welcome throngs of visitors.

— Dan Peltier

On Monday morning, August 21, a 70-mile-wide swath of America from Oregon to South Carolina will plunge into darkness during daytime hours.

The total solar eclipse—the first fully visible from the U.S. since 1979 and the first coast-to-coast total solar eclipse in 99 years—will reveal plasma flares on the sun visible from earth as the moon passes directly between them.

It will also drive an expected 100,000 people to the tiny town of Madras, Ore.—current population a little more than 6,000.

Twenty-four of the visitors will stay at Lysa Vattimo’s house.

“It’s organized chaos,” Vattimo said with a laugh. She is the lead member of the City of Madras Solar Eclipse Planning Group, a team formed more than two years ago after city organizers realized they could have a serious logistics problem on their hands. Their first tip-off was even earlier—four years ago when a travel agency called Continental Capers bought out the entire Inn at Cross Keys in anticipation of this year’s event. In such a tiny locale, such a purchase generated plenty of curiosity.

“Apparently, some astronomer said that Madras was the premier location for viewing the eclipse based on its high altitude, big plateau, and the weather compared to other locations across the path,” Vattimo said. “He could barely get anybody [here] to pay attention to him. But when all the hotels started booking up years in advance, we realized this was a big deal.”

The Premier Viewing Spot

Madras is far from the only location along the flight path. Idaho Falls, Idaho; Lincoln, Neb.; Nashville, Tenn.; and Columbia, S.C., are among the nine other cities NASA lists as ideal for watching. The first point of contact will be Lincoln Beach, Ore., at 9:05 a.m. local time; “totality,” as astronomers call it, begins there at 10:16 a.m. Over the next 90 minutes, the darkness will cross through Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, and North and South Carolina, ending in Charleston at 2:48 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time. Its longest duration will be near Carbondale, Ill., where the moon will block the sun for two minutes and 40 seconds.

As the smallest and some say optimal viewing spot along the route, the ranching town 12 miles from Warm Springs Indian Reservation will experience the onslaught of eclipse chasers quite dramatically. With its high elevation, flat plateau land mass flanked by pristine snow-covered mountains, and crystal clear desert skies, it’s perfectly suited to stargazing.

As for the eclipse itself, ask a science lover why it’s compelling, and he or she will respond in disbelief that you even have to ask.

“It hasn’t happened like this in a century, and it’s the only one we’ll see in our lifetime,” said Molly Baker, the head of communications at Arizona’s Lowell Observatory. “It’s going to be incredible when it gets dark and to see the nocturnal animal activity.”

Lowell Observatory and Oregon State University are sending dozens of scientists to Madras to observe and record the event; NASA is sending a cadre of astronomers. They expect to observe and document unusual animal activity in addition to the plasma flares and other celestial activity during the eclipse. (When unexpected darkness falls, many animals, such as birds, think night has fallen and take to roost.)

Baker and her 30 colleagues attending, plus additional volunteers, plan to stay mostly in campgrounds and RVs. She did admit to some trepidation.

“I’m looking forward to it, but I’m also nervous,” said Baker, who will arrive a couple days prior to the event. “It going to be pretty hectic.”

Handling the Hoards

On their side of things, Vattimo and her team didn’t waste time. They contacted the Oregon state police, transportation authorities, and local business owners and residents to talk about how the region would sustain such an influx. “We knew we needed to lock arms, get to know each other really well, and get prepared,” she said.

Madras’s chamber of commerce has held dozens of town meetings to urge business owners to stockpile cash, gas, and wares. The town and surrounding campsites have rented nearly 700 portable toilets, including some from Idaho, to meet demand, with garbage trucks scheduled to run nearly 24 hours a day to transport trash to huge dumpsters before it begins to smell in the summer heat.

St. Charles Medical Center of Madras & Bend has loaded up on such supplies as gauze, bandages, painkillers, and other sundry items that medics would need to treat the general casualties frequent at any other large gathering, such as a music festival, say, or Burning Man. Doctors there have canceled vacations; pregnant women close to their due dates are being told to leave to avoid getting stuck, according to local reports. Restaurants such as regional favorite Black Bear Diner have bought five-weeks’ worth of supplies for one week of customers.

(Speaking of Burning Man, yes, there are multiple more free-spirited festivals planned for near Madras during the time of the eclipse. Expect those to have the same free-living energy—minus the corporate baggage—as the annual Black Rock Desert retreat.)

Where People Are Staying

Since area hotels sold out long ago, many farmers are renting out camping spaces on their land in plots with such names as Sunset Solar Campground, Solar Celebration, Solar Eclipse on the Farm, and Totality Awesome. Campsite rates run roughly $300 a night, with a three-night minimum; RV packages are running scheduled shuttles will move campers from the farms to restaurants and grocery stores in town. Music, food, and entertainment are all planned for display at a nearby fairground.

Christina Carpenter has 275 reservations to stay on her 100-acre farm, Organic Earthly Delights —and could accommodate twice that if she had to. She has hired 40 people to build decks, fences, bunks, tables, outdoor showers, and the like. Her Organic Earthly Delights will feature sustainable farming and bee keeping sessions, cooking demonstrations, movie screenings, and host Joel Salatin, the popular holistic farmer, author, and lecturer, during the week of the event.

She’s also importing experts for guided astrology lessons.

“The astronomers are so excited,” Carpenter said on the phone. She had just finished planting a cover crop of grass perfectly timed to flourish by the time of the eclipse. “They’re coming in from Hawaii, and they already sent their telescope ahead of them.”

Other residents as far away as Bend (43 miles away) and Prineville (30 miles away) are making a killing on Airbnb and VRBO bookings, either renting out rooms in their homes or renting the whole house for the weekend in a matter of minutes. Rates on Airbnb range from $500 to $1,500 for a room for one night; entire houses are listed for $2,000 and more. You can stay on a pontoon boat in a nearby lake for $2,850, though you must bring your own lifejacket, which is required for the stay.

“There is a sense of panic,” said Beth Rasmussen, a Bend native. Rasmussen and her husband, Jesse, are the language arts and social studies teacher at Pilot Butte Middle School and vice principal of Jewell Elementary, respectively. As the parents of two young girls, they plan to stay put for the event, if only to avoid an anticipated six- or eight-hour drive back home along Highways 97 or 26.

“ They are telling us to expect one million people to come to Central Oregon,” Rasmussen said. “Everybody knows about it. There is definitely a lot of hype.”

The Deluge

In fact, large billboards along the two-lane highway into and out of town have advertised the event for years. Rick Hickmann, who has lived in nearby Bend since 1976, said he was dumbfounded when the billboards appeared two years ago. “I laughed when I saw it,” he said. “The sign was in the middle of nowhere, in the hot desert, with not a tree in sight. I thought, who in the world would go to Madras for that ?”

Fast-forward to July 2017 and the Oregon Department of Transportation is predicting “the biggest traffic even in Oregon history” and posting humorous bulletins in efforts to stave off vehicular calamity. (Two examples: Don’t be a luna(r)-tic: Arrive early, stay put, and leave late; If travelers plan ahead and come prepared, we’ll all dance together for two unforgettable minutes as the sun throws the moon’s shadow over us. If travelers don’t plan ahead, we’ll all go nowhere together for many forgettable hours probably throwing shade at each other.”

How to Do It Right

Not scared off yet? It’s not too late to get to Oregon to see the event. Flights into the nearest airport of any size, Redmond, the Saturday prior can still be had. They don’t cost as much as you might expect—nearly $700 from New York and $600 from Los Angeles, which is up slightly from routine fares but not, say, double what travelers might usually pay.

But don’t expect to get anywhere fast, and travel with plenty of water, gas, food, and any essential prescriptions. There’s plenty of room once you get there, as long as you’re OK with a lot of fresh air.

“You just have to be willing to camp,” Vattimo said. “There is glamping, or you can rent an RV and bring it out, or pitch a tent.”

On some of the farms around town, a friendly rancher will even set up the tent for you. It’ll beat staying with 23 others in a crowded home—though that might be a lunatic time, too.

This article was written by Hannah Elliott from Bloomberg and was legally licensed through the NewsCred publisher network. Please direct all licensing questions to [email protected].

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rollinbrigittenv8 · 7 years

Text

U.S. Destinations Preparing For Overtourism Burst During Total Solar Eclipse

Cities such as Madras, Oregon in the path of next month's total solar eclipse are preparing for large influxes of tourists eager to experience the spectacle. Amy Meredith / Flickr

— Dan Peltier

On Monday morning, August 21, a 70-mile-wide swath of America from Oregon to South Carolina will plunge into darkness during daytime hours.

It will also drive an expected 100,000 people to the tiny town of Madras, Ore.—current population a little more than 6,000.

Twenty-four of the visitors will stay at Lysa Vattimo’s house.

The Premier Viewing Spot

As for the eclipse itself, ask a science lover why it’s compelling, and he or she will respond in disbelief that you even have to ask.

Baker and her 30 colleagues attending, plus additional volunteers, plan to stay mostly in campgrounds and RVs. She did admit to some trepidation.

“I’m looking forward to it, but I’m also nervous,” said Baker, who will arrive a couple days prior to the event. “It going to be pretty hectic.”

Handling the Hoards

Where People Are Staying

She’s also importing experts for guided astrology lessons.

“ They are telling us to expect one million people to come to Central Oregon,” Rasmussen said. “Everybody knows about it. There is definitely a lot of hype.”

The Deluge

How to Do It Right

“You just have to be willing to camp,” Vattimo said. “There is glamping, or you can rent an RV and bring it out, or pitch a tent.”

On some of the farms around town, a friendly rancher will even set up the tent for you. It’ll beat staying with 23 others in a crowded home—though that might be a lunatic time, too.

This article was written by Hannah Elliott from Bloomberg and was legally licensed through the NewsCred publisher network. Please direct all licensing questions to [email protected].

0 notes