[ PERMANENT. ] a (k)atch-all log for kenos

[dawnlord]

WHO: Set ( redsoil ), Bondrewd ( dawnlord ), Drizzt ( twohand ), et. al
WHAT: i actually can't stand month-by-month logs so i'm gonna crush my boys into one perma-log for anything outside of events
WHERE & WHEN: Listed in comment headers, or under the cut.
WARNINGS: General warnings for violence, vulgarity and unethical science. Will update/comment with warnings!


I struggle so hard w/ month-by-month logs, so y'all have to deal with my weird organization...

— [MARCH | SET] GOT NO SHAME, GOT NO PRIDE

Comments

[diversionist]

[ his hands go up to set's forearms on reflex, but the god has the advantages of more grounded footing and plain surprise. cassian does stumble backwards onto the chair, forced to let go so he can instead catch himself against it instead of landing on his back. he's already knocked literally off-balance, but it's nothing to what set says after that; and to that he comes up snarling, braced on his elbows, alight with the rage set knows so well. ]

You don't know anything.

[ oh, set thinks he's done something for zenith? (you might as well be a stormtrooper.) he calls this fragility, tranquility, he calls this reminiscent of the empire? cassian's heart had beat hard in his chest at the climb, and it doesn't slow now, hot beneath his chill skin. it feels a counterpoint to the cord around his throat, knocked askew and visible at his collar, that leads down to the small pouch resting against his chest. his sister's shard, impossible to let go of, yet heavy as a condemnation.

(she wouldn't recognize him now; he wouldn't want her to.)

his anger is, as always, as restrained as it is hot. for all that he bites off every syllable, he doesn't raise his voice. ]

What, you think, [ with a scornful breath of a laugh, ] that because you've seen a few things, a couple of memories, that you know me? That you know the Empire? [ a brief shake of his head: no. ] I've done nothing for Zenith.

[ plucking at the mysteries within springstar doesn't serve zenith. following the questions of previous bearers doesn't serve zenith. refusing to murder the aggravating, powerful, composed god in front of him — doesn't serve zenith.]

[redsoil]

I did not say you did something in Zenith's name. I said I know what Zenite Discord looks like - it takes a different shape than Meridian's. You could have gotten it by any means.

[ Cassian, he thinks, needs to listen to what people say a little more.

He did claim that Cassian's state precludes him to apathy, though. That it draws him from the person he wishes to be, and more into a creature that could be bent to someone's will. Set has been there — full of Discord and driven to excess, to bountiful creation and searing, scalding heat. He tends to run hard into Discord, because he is the only ( to his knowledge ) Meridian Shardbearer to utilize his spellwork so consistently and constantly. He feeds the crops in Alenroux, after all.

He reaches out.

Touches his fingers to the pouch around Cassian's throat, before dropping them to the back of one of those fists he might just bring to bear. The surge of Meridian's force within him seems to bite at whatever Discord lingers in Cassian's shard, a thousand hot mouths descending upon it. The brief flicker of what it might have felt like to lie in a green, beautiful field under the soft light of the sun. Of turning one's face to the warmth of a star and just barely feeling it through the reinforced glass of a starship's front windows. ]

I said the Empire you showed me would be glad to see you languish like this. That holding fast to what you have done will serve those who wish you stagnating under its weight — by your tone... you did something for us.

[ Meridian, he means. Testing the waters further. Humans hate being wrong. Even an incorrect claim often yields a correction, and with it: truth. ]

[cutlery]

[ There are little pleasures that Sebastian has taken to in Kenos, and while it wasn’t the most surprising of them, opening up peoples’ palates was surely among his favorites. Cooking an excellent meal really was the perfect combination of things he loved. There’s the detail-oriented, meticulous nature of preparation, the intellectually stimulating parts of research, and of course, he is a gourmand, though his diet was considerably lighter. Naturally he’d find great satisfaction in providing someone an expertly crafted meal, even if it wasn’t to his own taste.

Plus, he just liked being praised for a job excellently done. He’s simple, in that way.

So, when Sebastian opens the door, Bondrewd is first greeted with an elegant smile by Sebastian, but also the aroma of something delicious. Right away, it’s clear that Sebastian takes his food quite seriously, but also that it would be quite the treat. ]

Ah, no worries at all, Mr. Bondrewd.

[ Sebastian welcomes Bondrewd inside (and at least one cat definitely peeks out curious to see who the fuck this large creature is), and he’ll go through the motions of taking his coat to hang it, but that’s as easy and automatic as if Sebastian had only just left his job as a butler yesterday. ]

There is still just a bit more I need to do in the kitchen, but as this is an informal affair, please, feel free to join me.

[ He takes a look at the bag and smiles wryly before he starts to lead the way towards the back of the house. ]

You have quite the collection with you already, I see.

[diversionist]

[ he seems to hear, rather than think: a poor showing, captain andor. it sounds like general draven. it sounds like luthen. it sounds like mon mothma.

it sounds like failure. a failure to hear, a failure to keep his composure, a failure to keep himself from this conversation altogether. a spy is nothing without his control. and he is nothing, nothing, nothing. drowning in distance, in freezing zenite apathy, really is better than this.

but the war god doesn't allow him that. that's unsurprising; war isn't merciful. war doesn't care what can and can't be borne. it never has, and it never will. cassian andor has sacrificed everything he can give, to war, and it's never been enough.

set reaches for the shard around his neck, and cassian swallows, but moves on before he does more than twitch his fingers in response. (he's very aware, for a moment, of the blaster at his thigh.) then that hand finds his own, and it's like the eruption of a sunburst: burning away at the margins of his discord, relieving the dissonance, bringing impressions of warm, peaceful days he never had. you did something for us.

he jerks away backwards, breaking the contact. ]

Don't touch me.

[ is growled in warning. but more the warning of a wounded animal, than of a predator. ]

[sterngaze]

[Liem is glad for the opportunity to move again, away from the theatre's exit and the site of that impromptu kiss. He follows Set willingly through the dimly-lit alleys of the Last Dance, past unfamiliar stalls and establishments, and into the tavern where softly-glowing stone sets the mood inside the dark little bar. He cannot guess what it is here that Set would want to show him; it is not until the god places his hand upon the cornerstone hidden in plain sight that Liem realizes that they are headed somewhere else entirely.

And unlike the twisting tunnels of the Last Dance, the lush forest that greets them at the other end of their journey is familiar. The cool, dark foliage; the faint, pinprick lights of stars above and glowing greenery below; the damp heat of a rainforest at the beginning of summer. The Beyond welcomes Liem home, resonating with the cool dark of his shard in a way that no part of Springstar does anymore.

He regards the shrine for a long moment, taking in the ancient, crumbling facade, illuminated by that soft glow and swallowed up by the forest around it. It is not a shrine that he would expect to associate with a god like Set, whom he would envision most easily amidst pale stone and red desert sand. But the structure looks at home here in the woods, and he can see that although it retains its original form, it has been claimed by someone new.]

It is lovely.

["Like you," he doesn't say, though his lips still feel warm where Set had kissed them.]

Do you often come here?

[subsist]

[ Helping out at the Greenwood Yards is a no-brainer. Kaeya has been giving them his aid for as long as the Blight had swept across Highstorm, but he doesn't quite expect the idea of working with pairs — even more so when he's assigned to a Meridian.

What's worse, they've been given their assignment: Veil Shroud. Excellent. Perhaps it is the one that Kaeya wanted to work with the least, but it is what it is at this point.

Regardless of his own feelings on the matter, he offers an affable smile. ]

Oh? Then wouldn't it make more sense for me to follow your lead? You're far more knowledgeable than I am.

[ Taking the blue flowers from World's Edge is as far as his experience with planting goes, after all.

He sweeps his hand forward as a gesture for Set to go ahead. ]

After you.

[redsoil]

I do not care if the Church is rotten, if that rot works in our favor or could be used in such a way. [ He is, after all, invested in Meridian's empowerment and victory. Just as he is certain that Zenith will work at lengths to hide their own rot, lest it be used to unsettle them. If the Church is corrupt, and that corruption would be more detrimental — let it be purged, but Set would like to make it clear to Liem that he is more interested in stability and strength, than morality.

Liem deserves that honesty, from him. ] I agree, though. And I know I cannot accomplish this work alone. The Hieropoios and I have an accord, in a sense. She has allowed me to begin to serve the Church, to wear its vestments and attend its more clandestine services — the ones led by her. If you would do this with me, I would be the one to invite you in. I think she would be agreeable to that.

[ It would mean working directly together. A priest of order and a god of chaos; to Set, it feels right. Liem is one of the few people he would admit to trusting with his vast machinations, so much so that it is Liem he brings to the Beyond. That he has now told the reason for his interest in the temple in the North; that he asked the Lady herself for wisdom, heedless of the cost, and it was she who gave him the vision of it, of "being" a burned and monstrous Meridian Shardbearer.

It is Liem he confides in, of so much information en route to the temple. Between the vision that the man was shown and Set's tracking of paths via his spellwork, they will inevitably find it. He continues his path around the lake, at a calm stroll — a cooling down, after their sprint through a nest of monsters neither wished to immediately tangle with. He has told Liem of his intentions with the Church, that he could have asked for information about the great machine burning flesh in the Springstar warehouse — but, that he had chosen to enter her fold to gain access to that information by making himself valuable to her. ]

I am willing to do whatever it takes, to reach the depths of that place and its secrets before Zenith can find their way. If you are with me, we will become the arch you spoke of to one another — whatever comes.

[ He does pause, to finally reach out and touch the stiff folds of Liem's raiments — they're much darker than the ones that Set now wears during his service, in the beautiful gold and white of a distinguished priest. It is a new look for Liem, and one that had surprised him to see, when they had met up at his Shrine to strike forth into the unknown. ]

[redsoil]

[ Cassian jerks back, and to his credit, he does not come to blows following it.

Set has never been a merciful person, nor one that comprehends that boundaries need to be considered. Especially once he has his mind fixated on an outcome. Cassian does not want to ( cannot bear? ) to be touched right now, and so the war god draws his hand back, draws himself back. Without injury done to his person, or offense taken. Instead, he takes a step away from the place where he has cast Cassian Andor, and reaches into the depths of green foliage and clay pottery upon a handsome metal shelf nearby.

He rummages around, and comes up with a small, hefty potted plant. In this, the god's mind must be absolutely alien ( though to him, the flow of his thoughts is as sensible and natural as any other's! ), because when he comes back, it is to lob the weight of the pot toward Cassian. It is a sprouting, lush thing with narrow leaves. An aromatic thing, sweet and tangy like fresh lemon. ]

Catch.

[diversionist]

[ what the absolute fuck.

which is to say: set withdraws, and cassian pulls himself upright. still sitting; there's little point to standing, quite yet, and he doesn't feel contrary enough to stand just because he'd been made to sit. and because something shivers just under his skin, hard enough that he'd fear it visible, were he to rely on his own legs. the appearance of weakness, even the possibility of it, so difficult to bear — even here, with no one but the god to see.

not that there's time to dwell on that. his head comes up when he hears the word, and he lifts his hands on reflex more than anything else. his fingers curl around the pot, holding it steadily, even as he looks down at the plant with a puzzled look. it does smell lovely. it does look lovely. it makes absolutely no sense to throw it about like a nuna during a ball game.

he looks back up at set after a moment, lifting an eyebrow. ]

[redsoil]

[ Moments after he lobs the plant into Cassian's awaiting hands, the war god returns to the space he had also cast the man. He hikes a knee onto the edge of the lounge and reaches in to find a few leaves that are ailing and pluck them free, grinding them between his pale fingers until they are stained green and the scent of citrus is stronger for it. ]

Do you know what the difference is, between gods and men?

[ Chances are, Cassian does not. He doesn't have gods in his world. The question is a little more rhetorical then, a segue into a greater topic of conversation. Set settles his hip at the end of the lounge, and points out a few more spots within the plant's lush growth for him to pick the dead and dying leaves free from. A silent command to get to work. ]

Men were given freedom of will and choice, while gods were given power. Men choose their paths in life, but are not always privy to the greater picture — they see two paths, and think those are the only routes they can take. If they do not take one, they are bound forever to the other.

[ He pauses. ]

They do not see that all their paths are woven together. That they can never go so far, that they cannot find another way. And a god, has the perspective to know that on their behalf.

[diversionist]

[ there is another life, where they have this conversation when cassian is in a different frame of mind.

in that life, cassian does not only lift his other eyebrow at the question, but says something like, are you going to make me guess? and there's some subtle, but real, humor to it; not unlike his recent question whether set will ever let him forget about his status as a god. he doesn't have an answer, of course. if there are gods in his galaxy — and some believe there are — then there are none that have ever mattered to him. none that ever reached out to protect him or the people he loved. none that ever bestirred themselves to care about the atrocities of the empire, or the republic that preceded it.

perhaps surprisingly, cassian does slowly move to brush his fingers through the leaves, twisting off the leaves that are brittle and off-color. neither exactly familiar work, nor unfamiliar work. easier to keep his hands busy, his eyes on the plant, than to look at the war god.

— no god has ever sat beside him, and spoken of hope.

he knows that's what this is, of course. he has never drowned so deep that he didn't know hope when he saw it; or jyn would've never had the effect on him that she does. (that she does — he hadn't left because that waned, only because the brightness hurt too much.) he shouldn't listen to this any more than he'd allowed set to try soothing his discord. he shouldn't, but

does cassian sleep, these days? he's tired. ]

And what do you see?

[redsoil]

[ Cassian's hands begin to move, and to Set — that confirms whatever it is he thinks in that fathomless, strange mind of his. What he sees is both all-encompassing and simple, without any sense of hypocrisy between the two; he thinks of his siblings and the relationships they had cultivated with mortal lives, the way they had bothered to, when each one of them knew that life was short, and to him? More often insignificant, than grand. ]

Someone who wants to do something else, but might always become involved in what he knows he's good at. Who needs to learn he is capable of both.

[ The sense of Cassian Andor is a creature so bent into a shape, that the simple act of unbending himself from it is impossible without the aid of other hands. He is brittle metal and will lose parts of himself as he works, but enough of him will be left that he can see his intentions take the form he'd rather they take — and were humans not deeply enamored with the romanticism of making the attempt, of doing their best? ]

If you are only good for one path, how is it that you learn to care for something new so readily?

[ And he reaches for Cassian's hand, to lift it from the plant and show him the green stains upon his own fingers. To let the scent of lemon rise from his own palms and catch him, fresh and clean. ]

[sterngaze]

[Liem’s only acknowledgement to Set’s clarification is a brief hum. Unlike the god, he has no faith that corruption within any organization can be relied upon to be of use in the long term. Unless the entire Church ends up being such a danger that they must destroy it themselves, he can only imagine scenarios in which such a rot would be best scoured entirely and replaced with elements that won’t weaken the structure from within. Any church has the potential to be dangerous — but those threats should be aimed only at Meridian’s enemies. They should not undermine its own goals.]

I will do this with you, if the Heiropoios will allow it.

[Liem slows for a moment in the wake of that brush of Set’s fingers. Despite the bright gleam of the golden key hanging against his chest, his sunbeam set prominently in its bow, he holds no hesitation for conducting such an infiltration. He has insinuated himself close to powerful nobility and penetrated the depths of cult strongholds in order to find the fatal secrets they kept hidden from view. The Church has proven itself to be worthy of suspicion; if someone must descend into its depths to learn of its sins, it may as well be him.

After all, the vestments that Liem wears now are not a priest’s robes, but rather those worn by the inquisitors of the Judge of the Gods; the traditional flawless white replaced with dark greys that will not easily display the stains of violence and hardship. They are garments made not for worship, but for anonymous work, and during the most loathsome of assignments, veils and masks are worn by Abadar’s inquisitors so that the spite of the citizenry will not follow them into their daily lives. This type of work is more honest for him to devote himself to than his hobby pursuits as priest and civil servant.]

It is typical that such a well-established Church would have connections to other people and establishments that may be of use. I am interested to know of those that may be more… clandestine in nature.

[Aetós. That warehouse where no-one is allowed to enter.]

My main question is how siloed are these connections? The inquisitor’s branch of the Cathedral of Coins had many connections that were not shared with the main body of the temple, as their roles differed greatly. We could be looking for corruption that extends throughout the upper levels of the Church, or just one specific division.

[redsoil]

[ The shrine in the beyond is rich with his energy, with the flicker of Meridian poured into the native plants but still engulfed by the cool night of Zenith. It must feel like a balm to Liem, who doggedly keeps his property in Springstar ( for how long, now that he has gone — how long will he stay, until he must be sensible and move away? ), and to Set? It feels fine to him in his mind, a latent force that could resonate with him, but because of the intensity of his alignment, it stings like a frost.

Set's shrine is rich with greenery, speaking little of a god who ought to surround himself with red lands — parched soil become soft sands, dead life spilling beyond the boundary of his little domain. Yet, Meridian's power is that of creation and growth, kept in check by its opposite of destruction and decay — he would be better suited for Zenith, in all regards. Perhaps it is why he lingers and lives in the shrine in the Beyond, surrounded by the dark power of the forest.

He walks towards the shrine, toward the veils and curtains drawn over the door frame that holds no door. Sweeping them aside, he peers within as if to check to see if anyone is lingering inside ( Ruby, who keeps it clean / Quetzalcoatl, who naps or comes to visit to talk about her day ), before looking back to Liem. An increasingly intense thing taking over his expression, the line of his bare spine pale in the pale glow of the mosses and native fauna of the Beyond. ]

If I thought of any place in Kenos as my own home, it would be this shrine.

[ He holds his hand out, arm stretched towards the lost priest — his dark eyes, the bruise-dark blush that had settled on his cheeks a memory, but one he wants to revive again. ]

Liem — [ Set holds the curtain up, the interior of the shrine awash in pale candlelight, hinting at structure and comfort within. His voice a knowing admonishment, suggestive without being lecherous about it; a slightly-hesitant thing, by the color that climbs upon his own cheeks. The other hand sweeps down the length of his body, gesturing to the clothes he wears — the dark, Springstar-style robe with the pale, blue trim: ] You should know, that I also wore all this so that you would have something to take off of me.

[diversionist]

[ set speaks, and the sound is like rain pattering against transparisteel. quiet, inevitable, impossible to ignore. like all cassian need do is cross the room and open the window, to find himself flecked by warm summer raindrops and cleansed of what ails him. like it could really be that simple.

it speaks to set's power, that he can even imagine it. that he almost believes it, for a flickering half-second.

cassian doesn't flinch away from the touch this time, hand boneless in the god's grip as it's lifted into view. green-stained, fragrant, almost beautiful. fingers belonging to a different man, different life; someone who grows and cultivates and makes things better. someone who hasn't pulled the trigger so many times he couldn't possibly count. who is always paying for his hopes with blood.

he wants to say, this isn't caring. it's just something to do with his hands. it's just following an order, and maybe set has seen enough to know how good he is at that. he wants to say, you're mistaken. but he asks himself whether he would drop this pot, let the stoneware shatter, the soil scatter, the citrusy plant die. if he wanted to make his point, he would, and he would say, see? this is what i am. it had worked with jyn.

(do not play world-weary and heartless with me, cassian. it will not work.)

he swallows, answers slowly. ]

Meridians always ask why I don't want to go home. [ his voice holds none of the bitterness it had when he'd said something like this to quetzacoatl in front of the iconoclast oracle. he lifts his eyes to set's face, now. ] Did you think it was because of the Empire?

[ a brief shake of his head. the bluish-white crystal set into his palm gleams in the light of springstar's suns. ]

It's because I can't. Nobody survives the Death Star.

[ it is the closest he's ever come, in kenos, to saying aloud what happened to him and jyn on scarif. he's sure he doesn't have to elaborate; set saw the monstrous abomination during their trade. the planet-killer. set is sure to understand the deadly light that had swallowed him and jyn and the others whole, burnt them to stardust. ]

Tell me, [ he says, then, ] what path is left in front of me.

[ he is dead, no matter what the magic of kenos has wrought. all of this time is borrowed, bonus, extra. but he has no future, not really. only to maximize the use he makes of this time, before his shard shatters, or returns to the swirls of space-time yima had pulled it from, and his fate is returned to what it was. ]

[sterngaze]

[Liem follows Set slowly towards the gently-lit refuge of his shrine, his steps soft on the forest floor, senses alive for the smells and sounds of creatures moving in the dark. It is not an entirely peaceful experience, despite the glow of candles within and the tranquillity-laden air of mystery that the Beyond is so defined by. He is keenly aware that the presence of such a sanctuary does not make the wilderness around it tame, and some part of him is keen to plunge into it, to stalk through the wilds and see what dangers they have to offer.

He will not, of course. Set has his attention for the night, as the god stops at the shrine's entrance and turns to extend a hand his way: a quiet invitation. Liem joins him at the doorway, glancing within to spy the comforts with which the god has filled his retreat — his home, almost, he has said. And when Set gestures at the flowing fabric draping his form, with that charming hint of a flush decorating his skin, Liem reaches out and captures the sweeping hand lightly in his. A smile flirts with his lips, more comfortable now that they have only each other for company.]

You skipped ahead, you know. [A gentle admonishment, in return.] Usually I don't let my lover undress me until the end of the date.

[He certainly doesn't tend to start with such.]

church

[wolfish]

[ Amidst his discussions, Set might or might not notice someone drift past the entrance of the church multiple times throughout the unending day. His dark cape billows out behind him as he goes, quick strides ensuring that he's never sighted for very long before vanishing again.

Eventually, when the crowd has thinned considerably, Yuri at last makes his way into the church. He casts a furtive glance around, as though he has some sort of nefarious design in mind, eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he assesses his surroundings. Eventually, he finds a quiet place among the pews in the back, quite possibly the one shadowed area he can find.

Yuri takes his seat with the fluid, practiced grace of one accustomed to being observed. He evidently thinks he's escaped notice, however, as he bows his head and closes his eyes. With the pews obscuring his hands, only someone close by would ever know his hands are folded in silent prayer. ]

[redsoil]

Knowledge does not mitigate curried suspicion or disfavor.

[ Said sternly, but without anger. If anything, he expects Kaeya to function like a Zenite — watchful of the Meridian presence in his midst, and anything less is a little insulting to him! Not that he'll press, if Kaeya still deigns to follow his lead. Greenwood Yards matters to Set, after all. Even if he must deal with the Veil Shroud and its effects, perhaps if he keeps his mouth shut and head down, he and Kaeya can escape without anything damaging coming out.

Perhaps that is why he hefts a stack of large crates onto his shoulder, the juvenile plants wiggling within the confines of their temporary pots. They'll need to be removed from the pots, their roots cleaned of the old dirt, and then replanted and given a burst of spellwork for their health. ]

Ah. Before we begin — this may cause us to be irreparably honest with one another. Would you like to make a deal, that nothing we say under its influence will pass from us? Nothing. Not even the most minuscule of detail. And if you wish to back out at any point, I will not hold you in contempt. Some matters are deeply private, after all.

[redsoil]

[ The thing is,

were Cassian to make such a request ( demand / plea ) of someone else, they might balk at dictating his future. They might counter-balance what they wish to say with talk of choosing freely, of deciding for oneself. Certainly, Set prefers that people live their lives and chase their goals with conviction — as he, personally, has been thoroughly disabused of his own will, his own faith in himself and his divinity. Where once he might have reminded Cassian of his freedom to choose, to develop, he will not now — he must speak with authority, as if his way is the only way, or he will falter.

He will appear an imposter, and not the audacious, boundless thing that he was made to be. ]

The one where you live, and the Empire falls.

[ Effortlessly, he delivers such a hope to Cassian Andor. ]

You never had to go back there in the first place, Cassian. That is not the promise any of us make to any one of you. [ Zenites, he means. ] What new world Zenith thinks they can offer you, will never match the truth of the millions of other realities where you and Jyn Erso live.

[ By his tone, he is not asking him to convert. It is not a demand that he reconsider his decision, where he has gone or what he has done, only that he is a little silly, for thinking any Meridian worth their salt would concede to letting him perish in any world. That they would not risk it all to save him, save Jyn. To give them hope and a future. To allow them to squander their work, their faith, because they would rather ensure an Empire dies on their watch, than trust the people of their reality to find a way. ]

More immediately, the one where you tell me what you did and I show you that you will always have a way back, through me.

[ it'll be fucking messy, chaotic, perhaps sloppy but — well. set's not exactly a benevolent god ]

[dawnlord]

You mentioned. How is your apprenticeship going, by the way?

[ Naturally, he remembers. Though the tone of their last conversation had dwindled into deep suspicion and thinly veiled hostility on Gen's behalf, Bondrewd had taken no offense, nor had it changed the way in which he spoke to him now. As if nothing was wrong ( it wasn't! ) and he was perfectly content to see Gen again ( he is! ). With his arms full, he looks more akin to a heavily-armored housewife that had just returned from shopping for a large household, and still has more to bring in.

His head swivels, toward the things that Gen takes note of. ]

I suppose if you help me, then it would be proper for me to help you in return.

[ Quid pro quo, maybe? He shifts the weight of his supplies, metal armor creaking as whatever biological freakishness he's got going on underneath it kicks into gear and allows him to support it single-handedly. It strains, nevertheless, but allows him to hold out his hand in easy offering. Men shake on it, right? ]

It is all supplies for my work, of which I am so very pleased to finally be able to focus on my personal experiments — now that the Blight has a proper cure for all of Kenos.

[dawnlord]

Oh my.

[ It takes a moment, for the scent of what lies beyond the door to make its way through his mask's filtering system — which determines that it is not a hostile microorganism or dangerous gas, but the simple, aromatic scent of something that has been prepared. For him, nonetheless. As someone who enjoys new experiences ( as, was it any true wonder he was known as Bondrewd, the Novel? ), his fellow Stargazer will not fail to know through their connection that Bondrewd is readily enticed by what awaits him.

He steps inside and allows his coat to be taken from him. The outer layer is a weighty thing, made of reinforced leather-like material, a sturdy extra layer of defense. What remains below is a sleeker jacket, more tailored to the shape of his body — and even that, he removes to offer Sebastian. A literal undoffing of several layers of defense, to leave him — ultimately, in a sleek exoskeleton-like structure. And his cravat! Manners must! ]

I admit, I am eager to instruct you. You need not worry about the volume of materials I have brought, I simply wished to have a proper variety to begin you on once we have discussed where your degree of knowledge already lies. That aside, the scent of what you have been preparing is unlike anything I have known — foreign, but deeply pleasing. I cannot wait to partake.

[ He does lean down to greet the kitty! His tail lifting in order to begin counterbalancing as he holds the back of his hand out for it to sniff. How cute! ]

[redsoil]

I will ask her, when we return to Springstar, then. Nat and I have a good rapport now!

[ ...... nat????

As an evil god, he knows he inspires a certain degree of maliciousness in the hearts of others; to function in any way that works against that parameter imposed upon his divinity would be to invite his own ruin, so naturally he cannot purge poison from an institution. Someone else he's brought into the fold could, but not him, not personally. That is why he seeks followers. People to counterbalance his movements, to maximize the potential for victory — or pure anarchy, in the end.

Balance holds no greater meaning than chaos, and in fact exists with authority because chaos gives it reason. It is a little concept spoken of by scholars, in the books he has read about his kin and kind — written centuries upon centuries after Egypt had diminished, transformed, and evolved anew. It is why he thinks to invite Liem, a man of order with the spine to dive into the darkness with him, to join him. ]

See? You are already asking questions I would not think to. I have never infiltrated an entire Church before, but I intend to allow my presence to be utilized as a tool by them. It was said that Greece and Egypt were bound together to create a whole new era, after all — why not evoke such might here, in a place where my home and Springstar's capital curiously share a name. Heliopolis!

[ With that, he plants a kiss right across Liem's nose, before seizing his hand to plunge on. He never truly stops walking, even while talking, as he is eager to find the temple within the next day's journey or so. Still, the trip is a great time to catch up with the priest, and discuss their plans where no one else can overhear them. ( Except maybe Yima, since she apparently exists beyond time and space?? ) ]

Cyrus said he's more of a Tribune of the people, than one of the Church. I suspect they might be behind one of the candidates looking to depose him, especially if what was found by Link and the others in the Tribune's quarters during our Oracle battle was true — Voreen replaced him as Tribune in that timeline. Cyrus informed me that a Tribune is Tribune until he dies, too. Naturally, I suspect they may be in contest with him, among their other black marks.

[ Really, a lot of investigations — the warehouse, supporting Cyrus?, the Shards — come back to the Church being at the center of things. ]

I only wish Zenith was as easy to fxck with.

[diversionist]

[ set had once lifted a hand to cassian's face, and spoken a blessing in an old language. bound as they'd been by communion, cassian had understood it — or he'd understood the meaning, at least. he hadn't been able to bring himself to answer then, any more than he can now.

the one where you live.

he does want the empire to fall, more than he's ever wanted anything. he does want jyn to live. there'd been a catch, till recently — he wants jyn to live, but she needs him, may need him, may not let it go one way. he's less sure now. and without that...how long has it been since, untethered, cassian andor has wanted to live? the truth is that it wasn't the war or the rebellion that snatched that out of his hands. it wasn't the empire. his last hope had died a half decade or so ago, but the first had curdled before he'd turned ten.

what would it mean to know peace? what would it mean to live? the unadorned truth is that he has no idea. he couldn't even begin to imagine. it has been too late for him for such a long, long time.

almost as impossible is tell me what you did. even the quietest of inquiries had earned john and him serious warnings. he doesn't like the notion of some strange shadowy council, but he likes less how long its shadow of influence stretches, that to speak of them in a place like kowloon courts danger. he likes still less that set had been on the list. and at the end of the letter:

i'll be watching.

does the risk, the possible surveillance, frighten him? no. as set had said, he knows he's good at this. he's lived and breathed this for so long that the clean air of living beyond the shadows had been suffocating. so he falls back on old habits; he doesn't have any other choice, even as he's shown his own greened fingertips, even as this god offers him hope and offers him help. ]

Through you, [ he echoes, slow. the god's hand feels scalding against his own chilled skin. ] What would you do?

[ what could he do? it's as much refusal to outright say as an honest question. ]

[redsoil]

[ When Cassian remains silent on the matter of what he has done, Set does not so much relent as he does fixated harder upon it. The silent weight of his scrutiny like claws, raking thoughtfully across Cassian's mind. Like he might start digging, a man possessed and hungry for knowledge, even if it bloodies someone he is considerate towards in the process.

Whatever he has done ( is doing ), it seems it is important for him to remain silent about it. And so, the brief and silent thing between them becomes a weighted thing, stones stacked one atop another across Cassian's legs, while the god curls his mind and soul into those green-stained fingers and passes a mote of warmth into his palm. The delicate re-taking of purification. A small balm, unconditional even in the face of Cassian's silence.

He brings the man's fingers into the plant again, to show him the texture of an adult leaf, compared to a juvenile. How to test a stem for good health, little things that Set knows of from listening to the god of fertile land and life, that he never thought would matter to him. The god of arid, dead lands. ]

Right now, I can assure you that you are no lesser today than you were yesterday when you sought to be someone different. One familiar act does not unmake your potential, these days.

[ Men are the sum of parts, complex and strange. Men are capable of change, even subsumed as they are in lightless places where they cannot see a way out. ]

To tell you that perhaps we are here, together, to continue saving one another from falling.

[sterngaze]

[Nat… Why does Liem feel like this is not a sanctioned nickname…

Liem knows next to nothing about either Egypt or Greece, but he can see the benefits readily enough of Set joining with the Church during their time here. The god has a knack for sticking his nose in all sorts of places, and setting off events that don't seem immediately related to his actions. If they investigate the Church together, things are bound to shake loose, and he'll be able to rifle through whatever does.

Just as long as Set can rein in his excitement when they're actually in public. (But here, in the forest, Liem voices no complaint as he allows Set to pull him onward.)]

It's true; I cannot easily imagine anyone would be brazen enough to campaign against Lady Yima for control of her city.

[That two different men have taken the cue to do so despite the Tribune's youth and good health is both concerning and suspicious. Regardless of who, he is certain that someone behind the scenes must have encouraged this turn of events.]

Springstar does seem rather more precariously positioned than Highstorm, for all its strength in numbers. It rests over the Below, as well, and I fear the influence that underworld might have on it if it swayed against Springstar's favour. Perhaps that is all the more reason to plumb the Beyond's depths, since this place is the only part of Highstorm that seems not to be immediately within the Matron's control.