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

[ Would it be any wonder, for a Stargazer to find themselves at the Starwatcher's Spire? In the midst of the early days of the Blight, he takes time out from a busy schedule to continue his own exploits; even as people agonize in the streets, there are numerous Zenite Shard-bearers who examine their lives and liberty and choose to prioritize themselves. It is, after all, well-within the wisdom of their natures to do so. And so, Bondrewd attends the lingering lessons within the Starwatcher's Spire, while simultaneously monitoring the spread of the Blight. ]

There there, [ with his hands on the shoulders of one of the weeping scholars, he seems to be soothing them by the time Zhongli turns up. The hulking, dark figure of a creature, softly glowing in the shadowy corners with someone crying silently, clutching the material of his heavy coat: First Alenroux, they can be heard uttering, sorrowful and not sobbing unconsolably, now, the Blight comes to Highstorm! Meridian must be doing something to exacerbate the issue. ] There is no evidence of such a thing, Scholar Sain-Breq. While Meridian has made overtures that are aggressive, they are also plagued by the Blight — this is a matter both our cities must attend to, if we are to have any future at all.

[ He soon looks up, as the young scholar begins to recover, noticing the presence of another Shard-bearer in the vast room. With a light shrug, the gesture of his open palms in greeting and a slight 'what can you do' motion, he soon parts from the scholar in order to approach the other man. Armor rattling as he steps closer, tail swaying sinuous as he leans down to keep his voice hushed, polite in the hall of learning they currently inhabit. ]

Even the scholars here are concerned for the safety of their sanctuary. This Blight poses such a risk. Do you know what they study here? Aspects. The same as the ones we are marked by.

CWs — Delusions, hallucinations; terror; allusions to sexual assault; public displays of trauma. Osiris is featured in this one, and he's a Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss yandere. Pls check my content warnings!

[ Zenith has won the Oracle. Akin to their first 'victory', however robbed they were by the otter, the darkness blossoms and bleak things follow in their wake. He dreams of the cold, of creeping chills that wrack his fingertips and crawl along his spine like ghosts. The loss is acute, the delusions he had remembered from the first swelling of the other faction's power swim in droves within his mind. One battle is not the war, though. But, he has lost so many people - no matter how tightly he held them. And in that mindset, follows madness.

Hieropoios Natalia had called upon him, requesting him for his boundless divinity, his immortal nature, in the hopes of alleviating the Tree of Life's suffering. The dreams of the Factions seemed, to him, to hinge upon the use of the Tree; from the dirt below they came, and the Lady Yima had mentioned that even she had passed through the Tree, so in that — there was unity of need, between Meridian and Zenith. The contact he had made with the Tree to alleviate its Blight, to take the chill of the strange venom unto himself had not been a difficult process. The visions accompanying it esoteric, even for his vast consciousness. ( The Tree was neutral. The Tree was both. If so — if Meridian and Zenith alike resolved Discord and promoted purity, harmony, then why were the energies positioned at odds? Nephythys sings within him briefly, brilliant and pure — and for a moment, he exists in a state of serenity. Curiosity flickering. The puzzle gaining pieces, and he aches-yearns to begin to resolve it. )

The state of ataraxis does not last long. He manages an address, and retreats soon after.

( Osiris claws his way out of the ground as all Shard-Bearers are born, but someone is already there and waiting to take his hands. Yima. It is the Lady Yima. She would love him, she would not condemn him. It is horrifying. )

The acute terror he feels is crippling, in that moment. He seeks clarity, clarification — the impression of a potential future, abounds. In it, he further sees Osiris. His brother, the beloved god of life and king of man and god, gathering the same flower that blooms in his soul from the hands of Yima. What did it mean? What did the flower mean, apart from the vow he had shared with her — the stain upon him, he would need to shed and face, if ever he sought to deepen his connection with Meridian. The vision bothers up, but does not linger at the forefront of his mind for long — for the Oracle awakens soon after.

Yet, now. Now, it is the aftermath. Meridian has lost and he feels no different should the outcome had been the opposite; injuries attained have healed, he has attended to his hair and styled it back to the length it had been upon first arrival, before Discord had scalded him with vitality and growth. His Discord, he knows, he feels, is at an all time low; yet, he jumps at shadows, and Meridian's light, the twin suns in the sky, cannot burn away the image that comes for him when he is alone. ]

— THE LAST DANCE (SAD VER.).

[ In this place, where he has long sought to distract and numb his own vulnerabilities, it finds him.

Set's usual booth in the darkened, smoke-filled lounge that serves as waypoint for secrets, occultic allure and heady, mind-numbing hookah smoke, spills over with research. Tomes, parchment, battered journals and hasty, written notation in his foreign, pictographic language have scattered throughout the booth; outside, some of the regulars whisper between them, their expressions stricken and disoriented. The atmosphere is one of tension, swollen so ripe that it threatens to split at the seams. Among the scent of spicy and smoke, rests the scent of blood. The moment the regulars ( a sleek, owl-like individual, a pair of twins reminiscent of the waxing and waning moons, and a long-faced woman with red hair — a calm sunset, rather than the dash of crimson death that is Set's ) spot another Shard-bearer, they deign to approach.

We keep all secrets here, they warn, stern and reproachful. With the authority of the Below instilled upon them, the neutrality brokered between Meridian and Zenite alike. To trample on it, would be to mark oneself. Yours, ours, and his. Will you see to him? We have not the strength to get close to anyone like you.

In the booth, a storm of acute terror has come and gone. The air still smells of blood, it vibrates with distinct panic. And amidst it, the heap of a red-headed god with his outer arms sliced to ribbons by claws still outstretched, curling listless and habitual as he hunches over his own knees — voice faint, but crying in abject denial. ]

You are not here. Not here, you cannot come here. You are trapped, you are gone. What do I have to do to be rid of you, sn and have THEM back instead?

— ALENROUX (HOSTILE VER.).

You bastard, you wretched fucking bastard — !

[ The sound of fury, once fueled by love, strangles on the wind. In the middle of one of Alenroux's field, the pale, bowed figure of the war god hunches over a row of verdant life. His hands dirty, light fluttering between his fingertips as he tips vitality into the soils of the farmland and urges bounty to grow, he swears venomously the entire time he works. Though his brow is knit, the strain in his shoulders and jaw practically radiates stress — something plaguing him, haunting him. He digs deep into the wealth of Meridian's energy, and pounds it into the crops around him, beating a fist against the soil with another string of curses, this time in a foreign tongue.

Set spins in place, where he kneels in the soil, baring elongated eyeteeth like a hostile viper, a wild-eyed predator that is threatening and posturing. The look in his eyes is glassy, far-away; even if the Shard-bearer who comes upon him stands in the open, it is not to them that his gaze goes. It travels into some internal distance, crumpling in upon itself as he rages. It is only rage, that clearly keeps him from collapsing into raw terror, into a weak, pathetic heap. ]

See? See! I possess your power, in this place! I hold your authority and mine, is that not proof enough that I stand peerless among the Ennead? The god of Deshret grows life as the god of Kemet had. Finally — I create, without your permission.

[ And in a shuttered moment, his expression's ferocity gutters. As if Set has been slapped across the face, stricken and breathless. He carries a conversation meant for two, but no other stands before him. ]

So, go away. I can make you go away, because you are not here, because you are insane and will never have me —!

[ A gasp. A wrenching sound, somewhere between heartbreak and hatred.

Among the crops, red iris-like flowers blossom in the wake of Meridian spellwork, like bloodshed. Set stands, sudden and explosive and snarling at the one he has finally noticed. His fellow Shard-bearer, who has happened upon him in a state where he appears to be talking to no one but himself. Insane, crazy war god with tears hot in his eyes; pathetic, underwhelming, incapable of conquest. ( Even in Kenos, Osiris threatens to undermine everything he has built. To drive him away from others, to have them view him as pitiable and false. A long game, the longest one. Set will ruin himself, his credibility and his reputation, all on his own. ) ]

— what the FUCK do you want! The fight is over, and I am sick of your face!

[ This time, he screams foreign obscenity at the Shard-bearer, and not a ghost. ]

[ After Set's no-good-bad-week, there comes an obnoxious banging coming from Liem's front door.

Incessant, rough. It carries on, seemingly without end because the individual on the other side of the door carries their discourtesy as a weapon, as the core of their person. Liem ought to know who it is by now: the war god who claimed him as friend, whom stands awaiting his presence. If Set gleans the change that has come over the wilting figure, it only seems to harden the set of his jaw; to elevate the cant of his throat, curl harder at the corners of his mouth. Most striking, however, is his relative state of — well, actual dress. The pattern of attire he wears is distinctively Springstar in nature, in a deep black that fades into a charcoal grey, a hemline of pale blue.

He wears only one earring tonight, the long gold line of it gleaming with delicate spokes. A sun? No, a long, liquid star. There is something etched upon it in delicate hieroglyph, and he makes no comment upon what it could mean. Black, gold, pale blue. There is a lack of jewelry upon him, speaking to a more somber appearance, perhaps something a little more ascetic in design, but his hair is brushed until gleaming, unbound around his shoulders, and his mouth is as rosy and full as ever. ]

Put on something nice, Liem Talbott. [ He declares, a battering ram of a man. ] I am taking you to the theatre at the Last Dance tonight, as my date.

[ There is no question in his words. There is only proof that the only person he had in mind for this venture was Liem himself; Set adorns himself in their Faction's ( their Faction's ) style, but the colors are the ones he has come to commonly associate with Liem. They are the ones chosen to match his typical attire, as if Set himself has gone to great lengths to ensure they will match handsomely. ]

However deeply your heart has broken, you are still to be my friend. I want you with me always.

[ Though the suspicions cast upon him at the end of Erqu become truth, when Bondrewd finally takes his polite leave of Meridian's forces to formally return to Zenith, he does so without a scrap of guilt or secrecy. A force of neutral, brutal honesty and fact, that finds his time spent among Springstar's people and Meridian's Shardbearers well-spent and informative. His fondness for them is palpable, although it could be said that his "fondness" for Shardbearers as a whole is, too. It is a frighteningly profound thing to experience, especially now that he has felt what Meridian does to him, and found the force pleasing but ill-advised for a man of science such as himself.

To return to Zenith is less because he seeks their goal, and more to embed himself in the calmness of its force, to best suit his mind and need for hyperfocus and delicate work. Throughout the month of Warqu, he is invested in many things that largely require him ( thankfully!? ) remaining out of sight. ]

— THE BURNING GARDENS, KOWLOON.

[ The Burning Gardens remains the public-facing lab he works out of. A location scavenged from the mysterious figure Aetós, it had been transformed by a combined effort of Akua, Bondrewd and John Gaius into a lab within which they had explored the extent of the Blight — and kept the creatures called to the world, and experimented on, by Aetós that were impossible to release into the wilds. Bondrewd can be found in the depths of the Burning Gardens, within an area that could only be thought of as an arena, that has been steadily transformed into a massive terrarium — greenery has been imported into the environment, moss heavy and damp where it has grown upon the walls and ceilings and scattered debris; a deep pool has been built, jutting from the wall below an overhanging room with walls of gleaming, polished glass. An overseer's room.

Glowing fungi, native to Kowloon, grow throughout the room. The environment is stiflingly humid, dimly lit with glowing stone and carefully-positioned floodlight. Within the pool of clear water, glowing faintly, there is a strange creature swimming to and fro. Bondrewd himself appears to be standing within the pool, fully armored and drenched, with his hands reaching into the water from time to time to help elevate the creature's head and hold it steady as it kicks its legs abortively. ]

— there there, [ he murmurs to it. ] Take your time, you are still regaining your strength.

— AN "ABANDONED" WAREHOUSE, KOWLOON.

[ Bondrewd's personal lab is easy enough to find, by word of mouth.

Injured workers and residents of Kowloon have begun to find their way to the great, dark warehouse squatting in some distant, fungi-heavy corner of Kowloon. A battered door attached is attached to a heavily-decaying, abandoned factory. The native, neon-pink mushrooms have grown throughout it — through windows that once had glass panes, through the cracks in crumbling walls, through the ground and the foundation below, weaving together to form a braided, warmly-glowing structure that is perhaps the only reason the old, squat building even exists anymore. Sandwiched between other abandoned structures, it looms at a strange angle, as if the building itself had leaned forward, loomed over those who might come knocking on the door.

Whether anyone has come to investigate him ( he did, after all, get caught trying to steal sap with another Shardbearer ), or simply to divulge his whereabouts, they will hear the heavy tread of boots begin to grow louder, louder behind them. From outside the warehouse, Bondrewd arrives — the violet line aglow upon his helm and arms full of boxes and bags. Outside of his warehouse, there are more heaps of metal boxes, seemingly waiting to be brought inside. ]

— how wonderful. Would you help me bring all these in? I am busy finalizing some work, and would love an external opinion as well.

Edited 2023-07-03 19:14 (UTC)

[ — recovering from being dead is a chore, a hassle. The drift of his mind and dull aches in his body distract him from the bulk of activity, leaving him to rest and recover and reflect upon all the things he is doing. All the things he still has to do. Idle hands and an idle mind make for a difficult convalescence, leaving Set to do naught else but restore his health and contemplate his next moves. He remains in Springstar and the vicinity of it, drifting through the city and down into Kowloon from time to time — for what reason, apart from visiting his favorite haunt? Who knows.

If anything, his death has proven to some that Set plays more cards close to his chest than he lets on; that his bombastic personality is one of many masks he hides his true intentions behind. What other pies does he have his fingers in? What other machinations has he plotted behind others' back, and will it be too late to stop him, once he closes every trap he's begun to lay out? ]

— THE PAVILION ( AKUA'S HOME ), SPRINGSTAR.

[ While he doesn't have a true "home" to call his own, Set gravitates between the properties of several Shardbearers and other ( secret ) environments. Requiring very little sleep means that he always has more time than others to spare, to continue his reading and conniving and explorations unhindered by most — but, right now? He is stationary, bogged down by the recovery time he must take out of his active lifestyle to come out of the death he'd evoked upon himself. The work has to pause, for he needs to be hale and healthy to accomplish it without failure.

For a few days, he recovers in Akua Sahelian's home. Easy to spot from the street is a handsomely-decorated veranda jutting off the second floor of her home, heavily laden with greenery and light, airy curtains to block the bulk of hot or cool air. Amidst the green, the bright red of his hair stands out, as Set hovers along the rail — face pooled against his folded arms and expression drawn. He's elsewhere, but doesn't fail to find himself drawn to the presence of anyone stopping by — whether they're walking the street below, or entering his space.

The only furniture, apart from a few low-slung backless chairs tucked among the dense greenery he's surrounded his space with, is the sweeping chaise lounge he's coiled on. A piece of soft cotton and woven reed and polished wood, done in a more modern style than he'd like — but, close enough to what he's used to. Books litter the space around him, and heaps of notes peer out from the space below the lounge seating — a veritable treasure trove of records and observations. At least, the ones he's deigned to write down and not keep in his mind.

To someone inside, he says: ] If you have come to admonish me for my efforts, I would love to skip to more productive conversation.

[ But, to anyone outside on the streets, he offers a wave and beckons for their attention: ] Do you want to come up? I would not mind the company.

— THE CHURCH OF HELIOS, SPRINGSTAR.

[ Anyone visiting the Chuch of Helios, for any reason this month will find a well-known face among the flock of the more distinguished priests. Wearing ornate robes of white and gold, Set can be found with a small gathering of Meridian-faithful in conversation within the church, discussing services immediately available through the Church — such as the rite where one member will tap into the world shown in their sunbeam and open their minds to Communion, sharing in their memories and emotions together.

Meridian Shardbearers will primarily be approached further by him, with a markedly bright vibe — ]

What? Did you think I would remain apart from a place where I could invest my divinity forever? If you have any questions, I am present to answer them. My nature is a little different than what the Church offers, but my efforts are here to assist our fellows in reaching new heights and success.

[ However, any Zenite Shardbearers who still might find themselves able to enter the Church of Helios will immediately be accosted by him — smiling and sharp, as he guides them into an adjoining room and shuts the door behind them. ]

Pure curiosity is to be rewarded, I feel, but most of you have never shown any care or consideration to anything apart from your end goal. You are welcome to explain yourself, and maybe I will permit you to traipse around. With me, of course, as your escort.

[ The unharmonized are also stopped, but only so that he can beam — enthusiastic and on the verge of great violence at all times as he laughs: ] You are new, and must be informed — paranoia is rising, and your freedom as a neutral party extends only as far as public areas these days. I could accompany you, if you have questions, though!

— KOWLOON.

[ CW, VIOLENCE AGAINST CHILDREN. While they are children, the moment one of Kowloon's Meridian-heckling individuals lays a hand upon his person, there is a fluid rush of movement — and a child's wailing cry, following shortly after the sound of bone snapping. Someone clutches their hand, a single finger broken backwards without a hint of mercy from the redheaded wargod. Child or adult, they will meet the same fate for choosing to start anything with him! ]

Crimes against my being are to be met with crimes against yours. See to it you spread word among your fellows that I am to be avoided. I am not here for continued violence against you, I am here for someone else.

[ To which he taps the left side of his face, just under the eye. A sign that might be painstakingly easy to associate with a certain man with a burning eye, with the ever-seeking, watching eye of Draumah👁️l.

Apart from the burst of sudden violence against a child, Set can be found at the far outskirts of Kowloon — gazing off into the network of tunnels beyond the organized sprawl of the city of free, neutral peoples. In his hands he holds a sheet of paper, black marks upon it already — a rope held loose in between his fingers, with precisely knotted lengths, held up briefly as he gazes down the length of the tunnel and makes another mark.

He's making a map. And without bothering to hide his efforts? Wrapped in a light, white shawl made of gauzy linen, he seems drawn — unhealthy, but closer to fully mended at that point, and were he possessed of animal ears, they would be canted toward te sound of anyone's approach as he works. ]

I have enjoyed exploring the Beyond. Why not turn my attention to the Below, too?

Edited 2023-07-03 19:23 (UTC)

[ He takes a week to lay some groundwork, despite his need to rest and recover from his strange, self-inflicted demise. Whatever he had done on behalf of John Gaius had resulted in his death, and to awaken from his pod to find both Quetzalcoatl and Liem present — watching over him — had definitely left its mark upon him. Whether for the betterment of himself, or the diligent worsening, would remain to be seen. The week is spent working in the Church, observing and working Alenroux, discussing certain matters with certain other Shardbearers and — most importantly, waiting for Liem Talbott to be concluded with his responsibility as one of the representatives of the new Ambassador program. His retainer will be left behind to keep him abreast of any pertinent activities among the Shardbearers, and his new aide in the Church will continue to ensure his presence there is not invisible.

Which leaves him free to finally, finally, chase down something he has been eager to since months prior. Since before the Iconoclast Oracle had awoken, perhaps since the moment he had assisted the explorers in locating a particular plant in the Beyond, only to come across an abandoned shrine and begin to wonder — who were the gods of Kenos? Who was worshipped here, and where had they gone? Asking Yima for her guidance had been a calculated effort, to remind her of his potential in her eyes and to glean the measure of her. Where would she point him, and why?

Liem is the only other individual he asks with him, on the adventure. There had been other considerations, of course — any of the individuals they had traveled with into the Beyond initially, Hayame or Ruby, even Jonathan Sims, who had expressed his empathy toward the creatures of Alenroux and the Beyond, and the desire to know of the past, the lost generations of Shardbearers, and the history hidden behind a veil of unknowability to them. It is Liem he asks to go with him. Because Liem is cutting and insightful, and will not stray from difficulty. Because, some part of him knows now, he can likely trust Liem — he can tether himself to their friendship, and resolve himself to let Liem know what he does, where he goes. The dealings he has.

They're already a few days into their journey, when Set finally confesses to him — not like that — while hovering near to the lake that Liem had found on his half of the exploration. They have a while to go yet, but Set is conversing with plants all the way, in search of the temple. They're heading in the right direction. ]

For my work with the Mnemosyno Gathering, Hieropoios Natalia gave me a boon. I asked her to strengthen my relationship with the Church. Knowing what we know about it, there is a high likelihood that it is poised to take drastic measures to ensure Meridian's victory. The sale of shards, the gathering of shadows that John Gaius told me of. Hieropoios Natalia knows she was present for the previous Oracle war, but her memories — and perhaps those of anyone else involved in it that is still alive — are muddled. I think having an in within the Church is vital and,

[ He pauses his clambering, hefting a rock as if preparing to skip it across the lake. ]

I would rather uncover whatever they're up to before any Zenites do, and ruin us. What do you think?

[ Early in Warqu, Set finds himself back in Highstorm. With the master gardeners of the Greenwood Yards seeking aid with the restoration of the terrain, and the planting of rare seeds and sprouts, he knows he is able and ready to lend a hand. The promise of restoring his access to the Yards is of vital importance to him, for reasons ultimately unknown, but perhaps relating to the diligence in which he utilizes Meridian's native energy in spellwork that has supercharged the yield crops of Alenroux for all. It is at the doors that he waits, the card holding his assigned section and the name of the plants he will be handling between his fingers, for the partner he will be working with. ]

Veil Shroud.

[ He murmurs the name aloud, before wiggling the card in anticipation.

He'll go for as long as he can, with his partner. It's only fair to give them his all, especially as a Meridian-aligned individual seeking access. What has not escaped his eye is the fact that all the other pairs are definitely Zenites, or at least Highstorm citizens. Already, he knows he'll be on the back foot. Worsened, in fact, by the fact that

well

he is who he is. Maybe that is why, the moment he sees Kaeya in his vicinity, he says: ] I am here to follow your lead. I have familiarity with planting and agriculture now, since I work the fields of Alenroux.

[ Since, you know. Kaeya will be able to keep an eye on him like that??? ]

[ While Bondrewd is possessed of verbal manners and the genteel aura of someone who is quite used to greasing elbows and interacting socially, for him to arrive at Sebastian's door with a fresh cravat around his throat is the sign that he is tidied up to the best of his ability. Everything else remains intact upon his person; Third Works still installed directly into his spine with its hypnotic sway carrying his strong gait from side to side, his glowing helm casting a soft, violet light among the darkened streets of Highstorm, and his large, leather coat fastened over the multiple other layers of metal and protective gear.

Perhaps he is unused to shedding the layers. Perhaps he is just unused to not having a greeting body to transfer his mind into, and the functionality of his combat form has become a bit of a familiar home for his consciousness to linger within. At Sebastian's door, he knocks — a thundering sound offset only by the fact that it does not last long. Clutched under one arm, he carries a battered canvas-and-leather bag, absolutely stuffed full of what appears to be books, documents and perhaps a few tidily-packed cases full of instruments. All the things he will need for a preliminary assessment of Sebastian's skill, and perhaps a few instructive sessions.

He loves having an apt, adept pupil to teach after all.

Within moments of spotting the demon, Bondrewd presses a heavy, metal hand to his chest and intones: ] Hello, Mister Michaelis. I feel I am a little early to dinner, but I could not contain myself much longer. The lingering memory of Meridian's vigor has me a little excitable, but no worries — I will return to equilibrium now that I have returned.

[ To Zenith, he means. ]

[ Already, he had clambered from the soil. Already, he had set upon the cities and found their shape and form; a handful of memories of Kenos subsisted within him, even as he found himself alighting from the dark caverns beyond Kowloon — mildly dazed, and without any idea of what he might have witnessed out there in the darkness. To find himself belowground in any capacity, let alone bereft of the knowledge of how he'd gotten there was alarming enough. A numb chill in his fingers, a lingering whisper in the back of his mind, the understanding of his abject powerlessness as an "Unharmonized" Shard-bearer... they follow him.

Dirt is under his nails. In the dim light of Kowloon's neon-bright fungal forest and the city lights, his eyes catch and reflect — luminous as a pale, lavender moon. Flashing in the dark like some eerie cryptid come shambling out into the real world. ]

Ah.

[ He croaks, and then clears his throat. Upon his brow, the pale four-point star catches the light as well. A shard of soft blue, the bottom point trailing down between his white brows. ]

I promise, I mean you no harm.

[ APRIL ] zhongli, starwatcher spire

[JUNE] open, neutral locations