The Seeds of Unrest: the Iconoclast Oracle

[beleos]

RUNNING OUT THE CLOCK

The situation is bleak.

The Blight - and the massive labyrinth of roots tearing both cities asunder, spreading deadly flowers wherever they penetrate - have progressed to a point beyond catastrophe. People are dying in rapid numbers. Bearers are having difficulty keeping up with the spread of infection - even among one another. The collapse of Kenos seems inevitable; a cure will not come in time. You can do nothing but watch as each new day brings further disaster, ticking down the seconds until it all falls apart.

And then, you feel something seize your Shard. As if physical fingers have wrapped around it, as if it is being clutched through you by invisible hands, you feel invaded. You feel wronged. But before you can panic, a voice enters your mind through Communion.

“Excuse the dramatics, but there isn’t much time for pleasantries. The Trees are about to hit the point of no return. But there's still work to be done. The Tree of Life will take you where you can find it: the Oracle and the creature causing all this mess. Fix this when you find them. However you'd like.”

Have you heard Aetos’ voice before? Perhaps it is the first time; perhaps it is familiar to you. Either way, the last thing you will remember is a confusing jumble: a spell of immense and incredible power, one utilizing the Tree’s strength to shelter you. The sensation of every cell in your body coming alive, yet seeming to break apart and render you into billions and billions of tiny pieces, all hovering in different times and places across all the different iterations, timelines, and realities in which you have ever existed. A voice that speaks not through words asking your forgiveness, unspeakably sad.

And then, there is nothing.

AWAKENING

Your eyes open, gritty with the feeling of a long, deep slumber.

Perhaps it takes a moment to shake off the heavy veil of exhaustion, to recollect what you were doing before you fell into this state of hibernation - but as soon as you do, you feel an immediate sense of foreboding around you. It is thick in the air, oppressive and pervasive, and you aren’t left long to wonder at its source. You lay beneath the branches of the Tree of Life, but as your bleary eyes focus… you see it. The Tree is all but bereft of life. Its bark has withered down to gnarled wood, the soft lichen dried up, and the grass that should be alive beneath you is long dead and gone. There is not so much as a single leaf on its decaying branches.

It has been this way for a long, long time... you realize this with a feeling of intense dread as you see it - the beautiful expanse of stars, of the cosmos, of universes scattered like starlight above the tree's boughs, gone. In its place hangs a sickly, ominously low-hanging, and dying sun ready to sing the end of everything.

You can't help but wonder how long Kenos has been in this state, but a sense of gratitude fills you as you realize that the Tree expended the last of its energies to protect you, the Bearers, during your state of rest. Had Aetos worked with the tree to see you sent here?

The next question comes quickly: how much time do you have left…? And can you find the Oracle before that time expires?

ABANDON HOPE (DAYS 1 & 2)

The cornerstones are still active and will take you to whichever city you wish to see.

Highstorm and Springstar sit like empty monuments to the cities that were once filled with life - yet the first thing you will notice is they are strangely absent the signs of the Tree’s overgrown roots, the Blight, the catastrophic damage that you can recall all too easily. Instead, each city sits as those they were summarily abandoned overnight, leaving nothing but their shells behind. There is a stillness in the air that is unnatural and unsettling. Despite the lack of any sign of the citizens of either city, you cannot help but feel… watched.

Something terrible happened here. Best you find the Oracle before something terrible finds you, instead.

The burning of a dying sun beats down on you wherever you go, unbearable heat sending waves off the aged cobblestone streets. Perhaps it is your instinct to seek refuge in the shade - but linger too long about the shadows and that feeling of eyes on your back, of being unable to breathe, of your world closing in around you will grow untenable and drive you back into the light. If you hope to explore the ghostly shell of your city in search of the Oracle - or to sate your curiosity, some problem-solving might be in order.

And while you acclimate yourself to your circumstances, you cannot help but note you feel wrong inside, somehow…

EXPLORATION

• If your characters choose to explore previously unreachable areas, please use THIS TOPLEVEL to report when they get there in the thread! We will get back to you with what is discoverable in that location.
• The following areas are off limits for exploration: below Yima’s Manor; below the Church of Heliopolis; Alenroux; Kowloon.
• The Great Trees of both Highstorm and Springstar are in a similar state to the Tree of Life and will not respond to Communion.
• Generally speaking, items will be of poor quality. Most will look as though they’ve aged thousands of years. Others will be in half-decent shape, but sparingly so. Oddly enough, it doesn’t seem like the whole city has aged at the same rate, so especially diligent rummagers can find worthwhile supplies. Please consider this should be rare and don’t go overboard!

NOTES

Here are some prompt reminders - see the full thing at the OOC Summary!

• Characters will have a diluted connection to the Zenith or Meridian.
• There will be periods powers are weakened or non-functional during days 1-2 (up to player discretion).
• The sunlight results in scorching; the shadows cause claustrophobia and fear while outdoors.

THE RITUAL (DAYS 2+)

The place you started your journey to Kenos is also where it seems it will end. As soon as the first Bearer makes contact with the Iconoclast effigy, you are collectively drawn to the roots beneath the Tree - like a pang sent through your Shard. Your objective has been found. The Oracle awaits.

Trusting Aetos seems like a fool's errand, but you must put your hope in the Tree. What choice do you have left? It's time to find what lies at the end of this.

Bearers descend, your steps echoing in the dark, cavernous space. Once brimming with life and vitality, the roots are now dried and brittle like the bones of some ancient leviathan that died long ago. As you make their way deeper into the earth, the deadened roots twist, leading you to a vast chamber deep within it; the air here is thick with the smell of decay, and the faint glow of luminescent fungi and mosses barely illuminates the space.

To your left, the Bearers will notice what has drawn them here - and the object of their search.

An effigy sits on the ground between two darkened tunnels. The effigy is made of gnarled, dead branches woven together in a humanoid shape; its hollow, empty eyes are sightless, yet you cannot help but feel it is watching your every move. Branded on its forehead is the Iconoclast symbol carved into the rough wood.

Once all Bearers are present, the Ritual will begin. Your means of exit have been sealed off, and you are trapped, slowly deteriorating together…

NOTES

• Bearers will have access to the Ritual Chamber which is a very wide, open space with the effigy situated against the far wall from the entrance. Several smaller tunnels off-shoot from the Ritual Chamber. They all run to dead ends; some are very small or narrow. This may afford you meager privacy away from the group.
• Once a Bearer steps into the Chamber, they can no longer head back out the way they came. They’ll find themselves automatically walking back into the Chamber as if of their own volition.
• For brevity’s sake we won’t list them out again here, but the complete description of effects Bearers will experience days 2+ is available in the OOC Summary.
• The effigy is impervious to damage.
• It Is Watching You.
• In a dead-end root tunnel attached to the Iconoclast’s Chamber is the Blighted statue of an Otter that may be familiar to some… Please see THIS TOPLEVEL for more information!

THE PURGE (DAYS 5+)

The sap has festered in your veins for what feels like days. It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed; this place has no sunlight. The effigy watches as you remain trapped, huddled together around it, unable to leave as you find yourself sick with the affliction of the Meridian, Zenith - or both.

And then… something finally gives.

Though it does not move and speaks no words, you feel the effigy offering you guidance. Knowledge. Much like the Tree speaks to you in impressions and feelings, you are conveyed wisdom you did not have before: a way to take what you want and rid yourself of what you do not. A way to make your convictions known to all who would hear them. A way to be known. To write your path in blood, be it yours… or theirs.

When all is said and done, only one force - Zenith or Meridian - will gain its favor.

Show it who you are. Show it what resolve looks like to you - and what you are willing to do to attain it.

NOTES

Here are some prompt reminders - see the full thing at the OOC Summary!

• You can Purge your alignment through various methods: Trading, Corrupting, or using the Effigy itself.
• All characters will understand the end goal is for everyone to Harmonize; the alignment with the higher rate of Harmonized Bearers alive when time’s up wins the Oracle’s favor.

NOTES

• A reminder that the Harmonization tally will take place on Friday, the 19th and be open through Monday, the 29th. The results will be released on Wednesday, the 31st OOCly.
• Don’t forget to submit any deaths to the Death Tracker, with a gentle reminder characters will remain dead until the event conclusion!
• Reminder to fill out the SETTING POLL ASAP if you haven't already!
• Have some MUSIC if you'd like. LYRICS here!
• HAVE FUN!!

CODING

Comments

[redsoil]

You are not wrong, it will. The most direct way to ensure Meridian's victory is to kill each one of them.

[ Set knows it. Set thinks of it, as filled with bright energy as he is. One by one, eliminate and dissipate; Shard by Shard, take the Zenites for their lives, and erase them from existence. Bestow the emptied evidence onto loyalists, maybe. The Church is perverse, but Set has long since been as ruinous as them. The curse, branded dark upon his arm and neutralized by the fading duality of energy, is proof of it.

He strokes through Dimitri's hair again. Again, following the curve of his skull to the back of his neck, where he gathers a fistful of hair in loose fingers. ]

In due time, if need be. There are still so many moving pieces, we can take our time. Another loss will not break us. And we still could win. Your behaving this way is beautiful, to me, but you are tired now. If you continue, they will inevitably rally against you. You will not fail, Dimitri. Just rest. For me?

[intervener]

[ ok well.

he rocks his weight backward a bit; since Vash had been leaning in, this merely serves to straighten him out where his arms are still folded petulantly across his chest. it looks for all the world as though he is going to root his feet in the ground pig-headedly and not so much as give an inch.

Communion, however, sings a song of swirling doubts and rippling worries, a chaotic churn of discontent; guilt. ]

It's not so simple. You can't go saying something like that like it's so black and white, 'cause it isn't! And it's annoying.

[zenwhoberi]

[it's difficult not to note the way that, even for a second, the girl is visibly taken aback by kindness. not so long ago, the concept had been foreign to her, too, with all memories of it so far from her reach they'd practically been dreams.

that isn't the only thing that possibly reminds gamora of herself. it's also in the way that she cuts straight to the heart of it.

that could hurt, the reminder, and in some ways it does. in others, it tugs one of the corners of her mouth into a fraction of a smile.]

Gamora. [a nod in return, and she cuts to point, too, lowering the wrap on her wrist until there's a faint orange glow illuminating their corner of the chamber.] Knowing yours isn't a requirement.

[again, options all the way.]

[intervener]

[ he folds a bit as if the gesture had GRIEVOUSLY wounded him, even if it is for the drama or whatever, sullenly rubbing his side. ]

Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right. Probably explains the nose...

[bakedapple]

[ While the Meridian seems to be having a stabilizing effect on Cid and his aversion to Meris, the same cannot be said for Link. He sits on the floor of the cavern, his arms resting on his bent knees and his head bowed low. It's a posture of exhaustion, of a person doing their hardest to endure something very, very unpleasant. To Link's credit, he is weathering it well... on the outside, at least.

Cid's presence itself does not bother him. Their frank conversation shortly after his arrival in Kenos has stuck in his mind, to the point that he might even be inclined to trust the other Savant, if he had to. A good feeling to have, maybe, towards someone capable of picking up on your most private thoughts.

He lifts his head when Cid speaks, but does not look up at him. ]

Neither am I.

[ with how Link says it, it's like he's disappointed in himself. ]

Are the Oracles always like this?

[diversionist]

[ there's a long moment where cassian is quiet, regarding him. the glass shard in one hand, the shard of his soul embedded in his bleeding hand. he watches vash's face, vash's body language, the invisible symphony of his guilt and doubt.

then cassian says, ]

So were you just saying that? About splitting the cost.

[ it's unfair. it's a low blow. he's perfectly self-aware of that. but he isn't above using any weapons put in his hands. ]

[sterngaze]

[At Misa's invitation, Liem crouches down and sits carefully on the cavern floor next to her, arranging his cloak beneath him so he isn't sitting on bare earth. The smile he offers her is wan, but nonetheless genuine, reflecting the small bloom of camaraderie that flickers briefly through the troubled cloud of his emotions as he joins her.

His doubts always seem a little smaller, a little less heavy when he can focus on someone else's instead.]

I suppose you could say that.

[Like her, he sits with knees bent, resting one hand atop one leg as he leans the other against the ground beside him. It is a more comfortable, casual posture than he has tended to show in more civilized surrounds — but they are trapped in a hole in the ground, at the end of everything. It seems silly to pretend.]

I thought I'd done enough of that already. Two end-of-the-world scenarios is enough for anyone, don't you agree?

1/2 cw sad children and allusions to sexual assault

[redsoil]

[ Remain Meridian.

Even as Cassian says it, the war god's mind contorts and writhes in pain. A choked cry escapes him, mournful as his eyes snap to find Cassian's. His pain is as self-inflicted as the rends he has torn in his own wrist, to loose the thick sap that has replaced his blood; as self-inflicted as the bruises and thorn-scratches that litter his throat, his limbs, from tugging at the dark vines and beautiful, cruel red of the iris-like blooms. His pain is that which has been inflicted upon him, poured into the seams of a mind that had been held in such loving hands, and dashed at the feet of one who was trusted.

His own shard emerges partly, cupped in the curl of his palm. Asymmetrical and jagged, he feels the moment when Cassian touches his hand to it ( the second individual to ever come in contact with him in such a way — ) and it is a nightmare. It is bliss. Where Cassian presses his own shard to Set's torn wrist, Set clasps the man's forearm in a way that comrades-in-arms have countless times, in countless lives. He holds fast to Cassian, as they join — connect — ]

ii. but the version with "damn bitch you live like this?" communion?

[consolation]

((lmk if this take on it works or if you want me to tread elsewhere!!))

[He’ll find it’s like pulling a ragdoll to him, as Caren is ripped into Gen’s grip so listlessly that the fervent violence of it seems almost comical.

Bearers quite literally manifest their own souls as they do, and yet she's never felt hers quite so disembodied as it feels now. To be sickly with malaise is nothing new. Even a few months ago, she had stripped of the condition that had given her life meaning while one day promising to kill her, and shamefully wondered if she could live like that perpetually. In this sluggish, sap-poisoned state, however, she has found a strange euphoria. No thing is beyond saving, even if the cost of salvation is consumption.

Caren glances down at his hands netting her skin, almost as if she anticipates they might pass through her or they might merge together entirely. When this doesn't happen, she lifts her flat eyes back to his. Her cold, pale palms stroke the back of his wrists. Everything is very smooth.

With the membrane that guards their Communion as thin as mountain air, he might even be able to feel the weak but driven flutter of her heart, winged and fast, as if it were his own adrenaline.]

You'll hurt me if you continue. [She doesn't pull away.] Just what is it that you think I can give to you?

[redsoil]

[ The formation of a bond like this is different, than any other trade he has undergone. It feels like dying, like rebirth.

Suddenly, he knows exactly who Cassian Andor is. As though he has been tattooed, immediately, upon his soul. Set can only imagine what is received in kind — what things are exposed, what will be thought of him in the end. All that Cassian is fills him, aligns itself to him and perhaps it is because of that, because this trade is equal, that he relinquishes himself. ( Set, who asks of convictions because he yearns to align himself with the unstoppable force of others; Set, who holds conviction, and has been broken down. He is a lie; a lie fed to him by one he loved and was loved by, and allowed to live until such a time that he did not need to live that lie anymore. )

He needs Meridian, and Cassian will find — it is not because Set wishes for the return of his world, for himself.

( Golden chains, the embodiment of order and control, bite into Cassian's throat. A pyramid of light bathes him in the indisputable authority of his fellow god, of Ma'at who stands just and infallible, who oversees the dominion of the gods and places their hearts upon their scales to judge, to weigh. A teenage boy stands before Cassian, pale skinned and short-haired; his eyes are so dark, red-rimmed from long hours spent shattered and weeping.

I can no longer tell whether the pain I am feeling is mine, or theirs!

The boy — beloved, beautiful, beyond reproach — cries. Huddled in the soft folds of linen, he holds a dark, rotting arm in clear agony. Crystalline pain, as the teenager begins to dwindle in age, begins to shrink before his very eyes. One moment, nearly a man grown, and the next rounded of cheek, large of eye and so very, very sad. The pain is unmistakable. The torment. The plea that he speaks, a child begging his father to protect and guide him once more: Please, save me father. I will wait as long as I have to, I will endure it all with you. Pay for your sins, lift this curse. And when that day comes, if that day comes... we can all start anew, from the beginning. Can't we? )

A war god, is a violent god. And Set, before Cassian, cannot hide his tyranny. The brutality of his rule, the words whispered about him. Traitor, kinslayer, monster. Bane of Egypt, ruination. God of famine and decay, why did you forsake your people? The knowledge of evil scrapes across Cassian's mind like dry bone, like the plunge of a vulture's beak picking meat from his own body — abandoned in the red sands, forgotten and denied his afterlife. Set's wickedness lounges among drink and drug, slovenly and careless in its presence, as if begging Cassian to observe it — to hold it against his memories of the Empire and realize how foolish he was, to give his name to a creature like this.

Set's maliciousness seats upon a throne, and gazes down upon Cassian with a smile of self-satisfaction upon his face.

Set stands before him, mouthing his name mournfully: Cassian, please. Please, as he lifts his hands. There are bruises upon him, clear signs of hands that have held him down, of teeth that have torn at his mouth and throat. Set's maliciousness wears a mask. This one, who pleads brokenly: Please, do not look here, does not. Some monsters are monsters. Some are men, who make bad choices. He would rather die, than be seen. He will die, he will DIE. He will seize that shard of glass and bring it down upon his own shard, because Cassian is seeing him — he is seeing Osiris. He is seeing the thing he wishes to be Zenith for.

He is seeing Set, with his arms curled around the small form of a dark-haired child. Curled together as snug as two commas, breathing even and soft and peacefully together. The boy is but an infant, fat in the belly and arms, fist tight in a lock of red hair. And Anubis's father pushes his nose deeper into the shorn-short fall of his child's dark hair, where he smells most strongly of his mother, and breathes a sigh of contentment. Come home, Anubis pleads, atone, and come home.

What he will not do, is apologize to Cassian Andor. For seeking the restoration of one world, means the restoration of all worlds. And he resigns himself to his duty, an ignoble god who seeks a life long lost to him. The cry of his child is the sound Meridian makes for him, as he lets go of what he wishes he could have — the crisp, cool clarity of Zenith — and pulls to him the burning, scalding penance that awaits him with Meridian. ]

1/2

[intervener]

[ ...

....

......again, it isn't really fair that all his carefully guarded feelings are laid out like a hand of cards on the table, even if his expression doesn't outwardly change all too much. those words strike a chord just as intended, even if they also serve to make an odd, almost unbearable bubble of loss rise with them. ]

[intervener]

This your way of saying we're friends?

[zenwhoberi]

[it's not as if hearing her name out of the mouth of a stranger is the most unusual thing to happen. her name has followed her almost everywhere she's ever gone, hissed with rage or spiked with venom — and none of that has been undeserved. more recently, though, it's come to her with some form of regard, which she can't say she believes she's earned. both are uncomfortable in their own ways, and she finds that she likes it best somewhere in between, in the space that familiarity occupies; when it's mumbled sleepily into her ear early in the day cycle, or reaching her in an exasperated yell from halfway across the ship, that's when she thinks she can most easily exist in her own skin.

familiarity, wholly unexpected, is what makes her take pause now; familiarity out of the mouth of a stranger.

her offered hand, with the knife on her palm, doesn't move, remaining outstretched between them, as gamora's eyes tick up, studying the stranger without blinking. they take their time, carefully noting every detail — but there isn't anything that sparks recognition, apart from the fact that he appears terran.

she only knows one terran notably (and that thought doesn't come without an ache), but even so, that doesn't give her much to go on.

finally, with all other options exhausted:]

Do I know you?

[cutlery]

[ He grits his teeth and grunts out a noise of pain as she slams him back against the wall, because she’s right. Here in these roots, he’s rendered mortal (enough, at least), and so he can’t retreat to pieces of his real form that don’t feel pain so acutely. He’s stuck in a mortal shell, even if it doesn’t require every function a human does. But it doesn’t matter. He feels only satisfaction that his sharp words found their mark, and it’s quiet in the fierceness of her anger, but still present even when a spear’s tip comes close to his eye. He doesn’t so much as flinch.

He's a demon, after all. He’s received and given far worse. It’s what it means to attain the sort of prestige he’d had in his Hell.

That vicious smile softens, and he removes one hand from guarding his neck. She can stop it, but it’s only placed gently on her strong forearm. As much as he’d like to fight back, and as much as there’s something dark and violent underneath that current of calm—It doesn’t serve his purposes. ]

You killed me once by tearing my throat beneath your teeth. You may not count it, but I do, for I felt every agony of such a death. Were it reversed, you would count it double, would you not? You call it honor. I call it being spiteful, for I considered a murder—however temporary you see it—a fair enough price for a single eye. You have also had every opportunity to right the injury in the eight months since. And yet, you have not. Am I to blame for your own impotence?

[ Assuming the touch was permitted, his hand slides down her arm towards her wrist. Mockingly. Daringly. ]

Or is it simply the cruel words that hurt you so? How laughable for such a proud warrior.

[youngprodigy]

[He shakes his head.]

There's only been one other before, and I still don't know what it was. Zenith obtained it, but that means little when it was so abstract we've no idea how it was obtained, or even what it was.

[Even if he didn't have Meridian infecting his mind, he wouldn't brag about it. There's no reason not to be truthful about the situation.]

There wasn't this... test involved, no sense that failure would kill off what remains of the universe.

[redsoil]

Some of them are quite clever. Just — you know.

[ Inexperienced? Unfocused? Incapable of getting out of their own way? Voryn and Set, once again pot-and-kettling. ]

The soul itself is made of multiple parts, and the ẖt has to exist for the soul to have any intelligence or the chance to be judged. The body must be whole, so the removal of the head is the final manner in which a human was to be condemned to oblivion. It is their second death, and termination of all hope of reaching Duat.

[beleos]

It is more sensitive for shared Aspects and blanket-sensitive for everyone else!

[zauneyete]

[ He sees what you did there. ]

It may be somewhat pragmatic, but eliminating the last thread is better than letting it catch and cause more problems.

Particularly since last time, he decided that we had already messed things up for him, and took it out on us.

[ Okay, and also? That's a lot like him. He knows how to deal with someone like him. Take him out before he becomes a problem. ]

[erbe]

[Oh, a shame... Tohsaka wanted to pry a little more about him. After all, she feels like asking Gray directly would earn her nothing more than the "run around". But the offer to trade is a decent balm for that. In fact a gentle ripple of relief makes its way through her.]

Sure, a little equivalent exchange shouldn't hurt.

[And maybe the calls of Sakura and Archer blaming her will disappear. Archer — cold and cutting in his remarks. Sakura — either pitiable and suffering or dark and bitter over Rin's decisions. They haunt her, and as such cause the appearance of dark bags under her eyes.]

[diversionist]

If that's what it takes.

[ speaks not only to vash's answer, but to the silent one in communion. cassian hadn't expected the magnitude of that response, but he doesn't regret evoking it. he'd known a strong reaction was a risk of using that particular weapon. the sense of him is intent, patience fraying the longer this goes on, but sincere in his desire to help. ruthless, in his desire to help. ]

[zenwhoberi]

[reflex would tell her to draw back — and she nearly does, with a flinch. it's less than the offer from the man whose space she's encroached upon, and more to do with the voice in the back of her mind that's so much harder to suppress after... everything. the voice that reminds her of what happens when she's weak, especially where someone else can see, that tells her what she deserves for it.

she's weak; she's no better. she —

still refuses to look toward the voice outside her head, instead forcing herself to focus on her breath until it slows, to will her hands to stop shaking. or she tries, at any rate, to incomplete success; her breaths become steadier, but her hands make no progress.

useless. weak and useless. she won't get anywhere on her own with this.

it's with a frustrated, huffed exhale, followed by one last bit of hesitation, that gamora finally offers her arm. and, maybe a whole minute too late, a:]

Thank you.

[she hates so many things she is, especially in this moment, but maybe, most of all, she hates what can't be removed from her voice with those words.]

[redsoil]

The lands of Kemet and Deshret do not have 'woodland creatures'. Were he a beast of the Nile River, the sky dominion of my mother or the desert of which I embody, I would be able to.

[ no childe you got it right......... he actually does have disney princess vibes




also i think wadjet is sometimes depicted as an otter goddess, which is killing me rn ]

[redsoil]

nice i hope everyone is having a REAL bad time within their aspect groups then!!

link:

[eyesite]

( john would prefer to see the Iconoclast's ordeal as that which checks the veracity and strength of one's convictions — that those who Harmonize and cling to the ideals of either faction for feeble or petty reasons would find those challenged and ultimately broken. despite how some might view him, he is ultimately uninterested in gaining anyone to Zenith's cause that isn't strong in their personal decisions to Harmonize as such. they would only hobble their coalition in the future; their thin determination would dilute their trust. and as far as Meridian is concerned... there is a grim and tactical part of him that thinks it's a long-term benefit, to allow those that might one day self-destruct and potentially bring down some of their once-allies along with them to remain among their ranks. it's the logical part of him, though morality and emotion dictate more along the lines that he would prefer an opponent strong in their principles rather than one operating on alternative means.

for one: actions of the former are far easier to read anticipate than the latter. for another: if this were a good and fair competition between two equal forces, struggling for the fate of all that is, it would be determined by those of such strong faith. but he is of few illusions. this conflict, just like those who wage it, is not good or fair or equal, and they will have to do all that they can do to try to guarantee the eventuality they desire. that's the way of kenos, just as it has been in nearly any other world.

violence is a rule written into the margin of those written in stone. perhaps it might not have been intended in this ordeal (or perhaps it had been all along), but it is a byproduct nonetheless. some Shard-Bearers have turned to violence, and bereft of the only ability he has to defend himself, john makes himself scarce. though there is no true escape from the ritual chamber, there are tunnels which shoot off from it like spokes from a wheel. he finds himself in one of these now, laying low as desperation among those seeking how all will finally Harmonize reaches a fever pitch.

but he is not alone.

the tunnel ahead of him is a dead end — he knows this already — and soft footsteps approach from the direction of the ritual chamber. he's effectively trapped; he just has to hope it's not by someone who would wish to do him harm. if there was anyone who might think to help him, they are far enough remote from them that he doubts they would make it in time. the stranger still approaches, and john is tense in his silence, unsure of what to do. he decides only as the stranger rounds around a bend and to the place that he had been hidden, largely doing so in a split second; he clears his throat, raising his hands to reveal empty palms, the right marred by a whorl of burn scars. ) Try not to be too startled. ( said somewhat dryly; this is just the type of situation where it's hard not to be. ) I don't mean you any harm.

( well. not physically, anyway. john is not and will likely never be one for physical violence, though mental and emotional... is often a different story.

of course, he now just has to basically hope that this young man, who he has spoken to and received a statement from before but who he has never met, has similar peaceful intentions. in this moment, however, john hasn't yet recognized him. )

+1 MURDER

[baltimores]

What the fuck is wrong with you?

[ Like, he already knew Set was a freak, but goddamn, that addendum. ]

Just kill him and be done with it.