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

[youngprodigy]

[He nods at the statement.

Perhaps it's Meridian's influence, but there's real trust in his eyes.

He pricks his own finger, watching with morbid fascination how his blood has the consistency, and color, of sap. It makes him wonder, briefly, how much influence the Tree has on their physical forms.

He holds his hand out over Link's shard, allowing the blood to slowly drip onto it.]

[wolof]

[ Akua's hand only stilled for a moment longer, at the barked, cold command. She does not wish to burn the bridge with Hayame, she sees the merit in the woman, for all that she is prickly and angry, lashing out at the world about her and easily set off. She had reason to be, she thought, and when people like Voryn, or Sebastian, managed to draw her ire, or say the words that they knew would upset her, it is not surprising that she would take issue with being asked to calm down.

She stopped, and let her hand drop, and Hayame stopped, and paused, and Akua wondered if all of her work, the gentle guidance she had offered Hayame, nudges and suggestions, had been for naught. She said she would give her what she asked for, but --

She carefully held her spot, and Hayame only insulted him -- Akua couldn't help the soft, almost please smile that crossed her face, at the insult.

Well, she had mentioned caution toward shattering the demon, but insults were a part of a Villain's flair. And for all that Hayame said and felt that she was a beast, she had a tongue like a rapier at times. When she turned, Akua looked at Sebastian for a half moment, long enough, to take stock of him. He would not die from this, at best it would be an inconvenience. She had no doubt that once returned to his power, he would be perfectly fine once again. ]

Let us hope that there is a swift resolution to our entrapment, and powerlessness, hm?

[ She asks, with a soft tone. It is not compassionate, but it is also not abrasive. Decidedly neutral. She does not wish Sebastian to be shattered any more than Hayame, or Set. She wants battle to be meaningful, and she wants to avoid tipping the scales against them any more than necessary.

She turned, to step away, not quite following Hayame, but... perhaps close enough to where she headed, that one could assume that they would eventually, have to talk. ]

[eyesite]

No. No. You do not get to chastise me like that after forcing me to play audience to your fucking temper tantrum.

( set means what he says, and john does as well; their wills are eager, violent blades that clash between them, seething in their shared consciousness. he doesn't care what set chooses to believe. he can sink himself into the crushing depths of delusion, for all he cares, but john has always been a man who has tirelessly pursued proof, fact, and truth, and he simply cannot deny the information that the senses that the Eye has given him deliver. his feelings about the Fear might be entangled into a complicated mess, inscrutable and ambivalent, but there is one thing he knows for certain: it is not the Eye's domain to deal in falsehood. no, that's another one of its faces, because the Ceaseless Watcher has always been emblematic of the horror of the dreadful truth, of that which one would keep secret at all costs becoming known.

it, and by extension its Archivist, were perfectly-matched to deconstruct the complex array of mendacity and misdirection that rudbeckia kept aligned in space around her at all times. perhaps a part of her had known that, just as a part of him had known it, sensing how brightly and vividly her fear burned in the dry dark of these tunnels — a star going supernova as the others around it burned out, dim and distant. )

Has she ever been given the chance to know? How many opportunities to choose have you given her? ( he challenges; there's something bright and furious and self-justified burning in the depths of his dark eyes, and it has nothing to do with what is eldritch and alien, mixed into the substance of his shard. in this moment, he feels remarkably, vividly, ironically human. set can try to paint him as a manipulator, a villain who had ensorcelled her to his will, but it couldn't have been further from the truth — he had done what he'd done because he had been desperate to, just once, just one fucking time, help someone. for years he's tried, and for years he's failed, powerless to help those that come to see him in their fear and agony, inert in being able to save his assistants from death and worse, fooled into believing himself a savior and protector of humanity when he had been hand-crafted into the exact opposite.

he didn't want the only person he'd ever come through for to be gerry keay, as he'd forced himself to burn his page and free the facsimile of his soul from the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead.

his instinct is to force set to understand the truth of what happened; he itches to access an ability that he only half-comprehends by this point that the Eye has shared with him, to peel apart the discrete defenses of set's mind and splice in his own recollection of the encounter so he couldn't throw into his face the lies that he had forced the young woman's hand. instead he can only be equipped with his words and ineffectual anger. )

Is that what this is all about? That you feel like I've - I've — taken something that belongs to you, and now you're, what, jealous? ( his tone of voice chokes with disbelief and outrage. ) Listen to me, Set, because I have no reason to lie to you. I've been able to sense the fear pouring off of her for basically as long as we've been trapped down here — I, I needed to know, and when I approached her, I found that her fears are rooted in Meridian. In the fate she fears it may one day force her into, and the retaliation she fears it will level against her when they discover that her faith in its goal isn't real!

( the strength of conviction john has in himself and in his words is a dull and omnipresent pressure in the Communion around them, bared as brazenly as naked steel might be in the precipitating moment before lethal violence. )

I offered her an alternative. I offered her a choice. I want to see if Zenith might allow her fear to alleviate, because it's - it's overwhelming — I... ( the wind is falling out of his sails, causing his thoughts to unravel faster than he can spool them, but he doesn't fall silent without one last admission: ) If I cared more for the fear within her than for her, I would have left her to return to Meridian. But I - I'm trying. I'm trying to help her. And if you refuse to even see that — then I have nothing left to say to you.

[eyesite]

( it's an answer that, more than anything, he doesn't want to give.

and at first he doesn't give it. he takes a shuddering breath into his lungs, holds it, and then carefully replaces his shard where it embeds satisfactorily in his chest. the thin, demanding light of Meridian has faded within it, and it brings with it a peace and relief that he hasn't felt since he was trapped within these caverns. he no longer has to contend with his guilt, his regrets, his nagging conscience trying to justify that perhaps there is some way to right what he had horribly wronged. martin's voice, too, voicing these selfsame protestations — it won't return to him, regardless of how that might be both a relief and a horrible sorrow.

slowly, he looks up to dimitri, his gaze that same empty and endless deep. he answers the simpler question first: )

It's what your fears kept fed, Dimitri. I apologize - I didn't mean to mislead you, and since it keeps me alive, feeding it is, by extension, doing the same to me. ( so it's not really a lie, is it? ) It is Fear. Or one of its faces, at least... the one that I am most tied to.

( he lapses into momentary silence, looking down and frowning, thinking of how best to explain this. )

If a man slits another's throat with a knife, which is responsible for the murder: the knife, or the man who holds it? ( his gaze returns. ) I caused the destruction of my world, and I condemned every living soul within it to a torment of terror, pain, and confusion, from which death wouldn't even be an escape. But - I was the knife, not the person who held it.

[leicesters]

Honestly, I can't blame you.

[There are plenty of reasons Claude himself dislikes Meridian and the people in it, but working with those he can't stand is nothing new to him. So long as their goals are aligned, this is what he's stuck with, same as the Leicester Alliance, or working with the Church.

Perhaps some of his number will be annoyed he's helping convert someone over to a so-called enemy, too, but he really doesn't care. He takes the knife, and opts for the slightly less messy solution of just pricking his finger. The blood congeals like sap past the wound, and he grimaces. It's like they're getting less and less human with every passing day.]

Ugh... All right, I'm ready. [He passes back the knife, then holds his Shard out steady for the exchange of blood-sap to begin.]

[passio]

[ dextera doesn’t know amos and hayame have any history, not until hayame’s physical presence brings realizations and the two people other than dextera cause a kind of spark in the communion space between all three of them. it’s neither good nor bad, just laden, and perhaps he wouldn’t have called on hayame after all if he had known it would be more complicated than just rescuing him.

it’s too late now, though; dextera swallows, and he can feel his throat bob against the ridges of amos’ hand just tight enough to hurt. ]

Hh… h…

[ he doesn’t even want to be in the space of their minds, when three people feels overwhelming. his desperation comes out in a thin thread of sound instead. ]

[sharmat]

(while voryn marks their paths in the dirt, he comes upon a better stone. flatter and sharper—perfect for a cleaner cut. it's held in the sash around his waist until the time comes for them all to contribute to the ritual circle.

if only they had candles and offerings. gems, fire salts, a heart.

he does not speak during this time, concentrating. their introduction has long concluded when he finishes what he is doing; ten minutes has passed before he finally sits back on his knees.)

Quetzalcoatl, if you're contributing, then take a part of the circle—but do not disrupt its lines! I'm sure you are already aware of what you must do, (voryn instructs, producing the stone. flinching as it's drawn quickly against the heel of his hand, he begins to produce blood from the wound.

and it is as red as anyone else's.

after another short period, the stone is then offered out to whoever will take it, still red on one side.)

And John, if you intend to join us, then I shall have yours fill the second third of the circle. Be mindful of the glyphs; our precision matters. Everything matters.

[sharmat]

I do not want it! (he cries. his delirious resistance after receiving such a confusing blow to the chin manifests physically in another battering of set wherever he may land a hit or a push. limbs lurch out at him, but his legs become tangled by long robes; had he known he would be fighting shard-bearers tooth and nail, voryn thinks that he would have worn something combat-ready.

fingers wrench at the sash of his robe, pulling it open until it becomes a half-lain rug beneath them. the shift beneath it is thinner, lighter, and affords him better movement.)

This sap is yours—(he is interrupted by set's mouth. the kiss is romanceless, a means to an end. voryn can feel the golden sap thrust into his veins with every second they are adhered to one another while the zenite taint within him scratches to the surface. it may as well bubble out of him like water from an artesian well for how easy it is to draw out of him. its foul ambitions and fouler reticence leaves him and voryn gasps noisily against set's cheek.)

I do not need it! I am as firm in my convictions as ever! Do you intend to betray Meridian? Do you intend to betray me?

(their hips come together, dragging. while it would be impossible to find it mentally pleasurable, his body finds the friction of their wrestling to be just what it requires. voryn pants with effort. he even grasps hair in fistfuls to pull on and to force set's neck to crane, biting into set's lower lip before closing his teeth around a small section of his pale throat.)

[sharmat]

You wish to help me? (asks voryn, confusion causing a worried arch in his brow. they are losing again to zenith, he can feel their corruption like sweet oblivion in his veins. it is the call of the void. it is the call of apathy.

nihilism is dangerously attractive.

gen steps closer to him and voryn's arm allows it because he is curious. they have never before spoken in the flesh and now they speak too near to one another. it would strike him as darkly comedic if he were not suffering intense hunger, thirst, and a desire to pass on the sap inside of him. this young human is an outlet as much as he is an ally, but that would cost them.)

Do you not belong to Meridian? (the hand on his arm is flexed against to test its strength. voryn could break free from him but chooses instead to lean into the hold. he examines gen's face in great detail at this proximity, eyes narrow.) If I recall, your name is one that I was provided as a member of the Church of Helios. You are Meridian.

(as he continues, his voice becomes dangerously low.) And you offer me now a trade? ... You are not yourself.

[sharmat]

It sounds as though it is an honour to become a star in your Mother's flesh. It would perhaps sound like a prison to my people but they are content at rest wherever they are. Whenever they are summoned they become totally irate.

...

You do not seem grateful for the existence of life after death, however. Or is your tone perhaps a scorning of your Lord Brother?

(LOL)

[sharmat]

(silco offers his hand to him and it is taken without pomp or delay. voryn's fingers are at a neutral temperature but quickly warm clasped in his enemy's.)

There is nothing shameful in a hug. (a show of camaraderie. a hello and a goodbye. a short or long appreciation. a hug is a nod of mutual respect and that is only offered to silco once more:) It is like a handshake of the body. If you wish for our exchange to be quick, you should come forward to rest your chest against mine.

(lonely, he would simply benefit from one even from a man he hates.) As you will not do so, we must wait a while and speak to one another.

(in a demonstration of physical power, voryn aims silco where the cavernous chamber's wall curves closest to them. he will guide him back to it, eyes never once straying from his. the scarred one is an object of great curiosity. perhaps now, engaged in something mutually beneficial, he may ask about it.

but there is an order to what voryn would like to know.)

What is your greatest purpose, Silco? It cannot solely be destruction. Humans are possessed of vices as Chimer are; you have not been spared mortal desires.

cw for uhhh bloodletting from the tongue

[muchalucha]

Yes, I hope so. When things are done, we should all meet up and do something fun, sí?

[ She includes Voryn in that statement too! Though he’s almost certainly too busy to note it… Quetzalcoatl does watch Voryn work curiously, since even as much as sacrifice and bloodletting was part of her culture, to make sigils with it is more the work of mages. Maybe it would be worth asking him about his magic more for her own reasons, but that too can wait until later.

Patiently, she waits until he’s done, and she nods as she takes the rock. For the Trades of the Factions’ energy, she’s just been using her sharp teeth to cut a little puncture wound into a finger, but for something like this, it doesn’t seem right to her. There’s power in blood, that’s something they all understand, but to the Azteca, there’s also power in where it comes from. To bring life to humanity, she had cut four places to give them her blood. It seems right to at least pick one of those places.

Quetzalcoatl kneels before the spot that’s indicated, and after saying something softly in Nahuatl, extends her tongue and drives the sharp point through it to pierce it. There’s not a noise from her as she does so, since there’s a ritualistic element to this for her that asks for silence as a show of strength. She does withdraw the rock with a little sigh, then cups a hand to catch the thick blood that spills out. Once there’s enough, she pours it from her hand into the circle.

Wordlessly, but with a smile all the same, she offers the rock to John next. ]

[sharmat]

(he was not aware of how simple touch would comfort him. zhongli rubs pressure into his hands and voryn's soul feels momentarily settled. though spiteful, the chimer people have always been deeply affectionate, and physicality is common enough that voryn, even possessed of a lordship, desires it with whoever offers. he knows that he will be able to rest here.)

Yes, (confirms voryn. zhongli understands his mind and seeks to see from his perspective.

to do that, he must first perhaps die. there are simpler ways, however.

willing communion to open between them, voryn achieves a connection. zhongli couldn't deny him if he tried, two savants collected in a small part of the ritual chamber to speak low and intimately. he shares a dream with his friend, one the tree shared with him. in it, they are taken above everything to overlook kenos and its many disparate islands, then guided down into the roots where there is a dark sickness creeping from deep within the earth.)

The Tree of Life tried to tell me that its end was nigh. I did not understand the message... I merely believed that it was warning me that a taint existed. If the Tree has been connected inextricably to the Timestream, it is possible that this is all a future event waiting for the present to catch up to it.

(voryn smiles though it is sad. he raises their hands together to briefly touch them to his warm shard, then lowers them to ask a question.)

What do you believe, Zhongli?

[erbe]

I was taught there is always an equivalence to such things. To make anything something has to be used up. Parts used to make a new whole. Cracked eggs for omelettes, cakes, and the like. To restore what was old, however, always costs more than making something new. Sure, you may think you're simply gluing an old vase back together — but it's not like that with whole planets. With the souls of people and the sheer time needed to catch back up to the moment such things were lost. The alchemical nature of it all makes restoration seem more risky than creation. Though... I wonder if that is why necromancy...

[Her voice trails off as she gets lost in thought. Her brain jumping to the next subject far too quickly for her mouth to keep up. Would that be what Meridian intends to do? Revive a whole planet through some cosmic form of necromancy? Can such a Miracle truly be accomplished? What would the end result even look like? The revived husk of a planet, the people nothing but—

Tohsaka's brow furrows as she can hear a faint whisper in the voice of her sister: "You're just making baseless assumptions to comfort yourself, nee-san. It's not that you can't bring us back, it's that you never wanted to in the first place."

A sharp frown tugs at the corners of her lips while negative emotion settles over her.]

[erbe]

[Oh? Here she had assumed it was similar to Japan considering Dark crying to be fed things like "gyukatsu".]

No. I did not have a boyfriend and my parents were dead long before I arrived at the base of that tree.

[Melancholy seems to blanket her. Rest on her shoulders like a shroud. Her father dead, her mother handicapped and then dead, her sister she was preparing to kill — and her Servant dead. Emiya had been sort-of adopted as her pupil, but they weren't incredibly close. She was alone. By design.]

[erbe]

If you wanted to stay that way I'd help you, but if you're just procrastinating on doing what you really want — then I'll have to scold you.

[She wants to say so much more. To yell at her for what she felt over their connection when Gray died. To insist that she harmonize with Zenith so that Rin (or Mordred) can keep an eye on her. But Rin isn't the type to get clingy or override the decisions of others like that. If Gray doesn't want to be Zenith, then Tohsaka is going to chide Gray about dragging her feet.]

[helloween]

Oh.

[ It's clear that Lucien is sad for her. That much bleeds through the communion and the space. ]

I guess that would make it easier to pick a new world instead...

[ He'd never known Rin had lived such a lonely life in her home world. It sort of explains why she's so snippy with him from time to time. ]

My world was kind of bad off too, but at least it wasn't lonely. If you ignore being under attack by zombie armies and the scary prophecies from the grown-ups, living in Metallicana was really nice.

[warmare]

[Some of the Zenites had the debate had left a stronger impression than others. Amos, that woman Misa, and the one-eyed gaki, though...]

Be mindful of them, in particular. There is no way they will be swayed by Meridian..

[If she sounds sure... it's because she is. She had chosen Amos to take the Zenith from her precisely because she knew he couldn't be swayed, too dedicated to that witch and too afraid to feel the pain of hoping. Would Amos resort to corruption? Perhaps. But the one she is positive would is-]

That gaki Silco made some sort of deal with Set, but as much as he may think he's neutralized them I have no doubt that they will be working to undermine Meridian from within. Do not even go near him.

[vestments]

( he does make himself comfortable — it's not in the same way that marc would, marc who barely knows the meaning of the word, wouldn't know stillness if it punched him in the face. steven eyes the ground disparagingly and, faced with no other option, sits. cross-legged, comfortable in himself, in his skin in a way that marc rarely is, and he looks at lottie, not entirely displeased when she laughs though it gives way, swiftly, to something bordering on concern when she starts to cough.

the question ("are you okay?") doesn't get asked, not yet, in favour of a light-hearted, dismissive wave of his hand at her question. how many siestas? none, and thanks to marc, it's not strictly because siestas aren't a thing here. )

I haven't spent much time in relentless sun, Lottie. ( look at him! this is not the pallor of a man who sees any degree of sun (sadly). a touch quieter, a smidge more to himself— ) Much to my shame.

[muchalucha]

[ Quetzalcoatl nods gently as she listens. Even though Silco doesn’t say much, it does add more of the pieces to his story that she’s putting together. The sheer hatred in the word brothers before says so much about whatever happened between the two. Quetzalcoatl doesn’t even need the details of it. It’s not that they don’t matter, but the most important takeaway for her is that it had deeply affected him. She has a feeling that the emotional wound is much more important to him than the physical one, though he might not admit it. ]

I’m sorry, then. [ Her voice is soft and gentle, and Communion fills with the sympathy that he must despise. It’s not like she can help it, though. ] That must have been painful. A betrayal, yes?

[ Whether she means the injury or the emotions is something she intentionally leaves vague, since it might as well be both. In fact, it might still be both, though she’s still unaware of how the physical injury still lingers too. ]

I didn’t mean to imply that you need to do what Tezcatlipoca and I did. Tezcatlipoca and I— Well, es complicado, but we’re destined to never get along because he’s the night and he’s conflict itself. Creating the Fifth Sun together was just because we couldn’t defeat Tlaltecuhtli on our own.

[ There’s parts of the story that she doesn’t bring up because she doesn’t think Silco would fully understand. They’re not human, after all. She and Tezcatlipoca had a duty to the world that few humans can understand fully. ]

So, I would never say it was the same as you two, you know?

[hyperpotamous]

[ john moves to the remaining position, carefully avoiding what voryn has already laid down. ]

I suppose post-ritual drinks couldn't hurt.

[ wishful thinking, as even a potentially uncomfortable night out is preferable to being trapped down here. plus, he has drunk toasts to worse things. for now, he gets serious and observes. true magic is a mystery to him beyond what little he's read about locally or had encountered working with akua, perhaps, so there is plenty to wonder about.

when it's his turn to take the rock, he hesitates momentarily at the sight of quetzalcoatl bleeding out of her tongue and into her hand. it's not like he's remotely squeamish about something like this; it's just that a power move like that is a little intimidating. he would know — having fully embraced all the most grotesque aspects of necromancy — shock value can go a long way toward catching your enemies off guard.

however, he doubts shock value is her intention, and after gawking for a few seconds he takes the bloody rock. these little things keep him making mental comparisons even though he'd prefer not to. for his part, john favours a place similar to voryn, frowning as he makes the cut. he's never had to do this in such a crude fashion before, but he has no problem carving deep enough to get the blood flowing anyway to work on completing his third of the circle. ]

[warmare]

[... He's smiling, for some reason. It's an expression that Hayame herself has long forgotten how to make, and even if she could remember... she fears it would not even look right upon her face. It changes his, though, in a strange way. He'd seemed almost emotionless, steady and low, when they had spoken before, but...]

... Hmmph.

[She doesn't smile when he thanks her, and she looks vaguely uncomfortable with the compliment, even though she'd been the one to bring up the topic in the first place.]

I am not kind.

[As if he had simply made a mistake in judgement, and she needed to correct him, for his own good. But as to finding others... her lips twist into a look of displeasure, tinged with anger to cover something else.]

Our so-called allies have already made things clear to me with their silence. I will not forget those unwilling to condemn that degenerate.

[Those who'd had the gall to call themselves her friend. Those she had thought would take her side. Even Claude, who had intervened... had only done so to encourage harmony in their "team", refusing to defend her or take a side. (Not that she needed defending, and yet-)

... Disappointing. But she should have known better than to even think it would go differently. She was the only jinba amidst a crop of, if not humans, then humanoids. Of course most of them would stick together.]

[vestments]

( the resentment — rather than the sense of apology — goes a long way to communicate dextera's meaning, and marc's eyes widen, surprise mixed with realisation and a pervasive sense of 'oh, fuck'. briefly, suddenly, apropos nothing (he thinks), he thinks of echo (maya), thinks of how he'd made a mess of communicating with her at the best of times. it's not that she and dextera are similar, not at all, it's more that marc has never been good at communication full stop, less so when he needs to make a concerted effort.

(memories of echo are strange — distant, hazy, like they exist as part of another life entirely. marc had been marc, but none of what he'd done was anything he looked back on with fondness. identity crises are nothing new to him, but that'd been the first time (and last, hopefully) he'd ever found himself impersonating other superheroes.

officially, it'd been tame by his standards, but it hadn't been anything anyone else had looked upon kindly, either. after everything he'd done in new york, after running away to mexico and returning (jake, not marc—), it'd been another question mark against his conduct, against his sanity.)

truthfully, he wouldn't really blame dextera from deciding to nope out of the interaction — it's precisely what marc tends to do when he's in the middle of something he'd much prefer not to be. instead — or rather, whilst marc would also like to dip out of this whole thing now he's made it AWKWARD, PROBABLY, he doesn't. he inhales, lets his gaze shift away from dextera. with echo, all he'd managed to do was off-colour jokes, attempts at humour (never a strong point) and relating (just as poor) that'd fallen thoroughly flat.

he waves a hand, slightly dismissive, intended to convey 'don't worry about it', but caught up more in the feeling of not knowing how to respond. there's not a lot he can offer in kind — 'did you hear that?', or 'let me know if you see something dressed in a suit with a skeletal bird head' are questions he knows not to ask, questions he's taught himself ponder only internally. once upon a time, he'd thought new york to be made up of sand and pyramids, its cops to be jackals, and the subway to be a passage to—god knows, actually. a metaphor, he'd decided eventually, belatedly.

he's not convinced now is any different, truthfully. he's not convinced about any of his feelings, contrasting and conflicted as they are, and he's not used to asking. )

Spector, ( he says, then, and it's accompanied by wryness, the mental association of 'spectre', as if it's a private joke that only marc's in on.

(marc spector was a ghost, you see? he'd died, and then he'd been brought back.) )

[dawnlord]

[ His daughter rests in the crook of his arm, her cheek pressed into the dark line of his coat — the baby fat of her cheek beginning to turn into the slender line of a young girl's jaw. Her hair curls like a white cloud, a streak of spring green caught in the idly-chewing mouth of a pink creature that coos and croons while she sleeps. Before him, the brilliance of the Altar illuminates the lightless depths of the Sea of Corpses, casting stark relief through the narrow window in his office.

Beyond the Ido Front, humanity drives itself forward. In the name of their unique bond with the unknown, they cast aside all that they love upon the surface and commit themselves to the Abyss — love, family, friends, potential and future alike. ( He is Zenith, has chosen Zenith for that reason. For the impassioned and adorable Zenites who have pledged themselves to the forward march, the tireless progress associated with the future. ) ( In the wake of Link's plea, the way he thinks of his world and the potential to return in the wake of a Meridian win, he thinks of the children whom had stood against him — in Meridian, he sees them. Riko, Reg, Nanachi. )

May your journey overflow, with curses and blessings. In the core of his un-person, Bondrewd does not mind who claims true victory. He will be infinitely proud of all who have partaken in this microcosm of strife and fate-defiance; he does not hate a single one of them, nor begrudge them when they leverage their personal pain as a vendetta against the 'other'. He sees the children, who abandoned their own safety and adult futures, and turned their eyes down — down into the Abyss.

The same Abyss he also wishes to know the truth of. Not simply for his personal pleasure, but for all who will come in the future. There is so much of the world that he has not seen, that they have not seen, that Link has not seen — and he acquiesces to the yearning, striving thing that he sees at the heart of the Meridian. Zenith wanes within him, thinning like a diluted substance, sheer as the Fog Weave as it is urged away, and the courage in Link's heart draws him in. Allows him to unite himself to Meridian.

( In Communion, the image of his daughter stirs. Her green eyes open, her mouth curves into a smile as she knuckles the sleep from her eyes: Papa, she drawls, still disoriented and rousing. I had a dream about a hero. He was all in green, like me. I love green.

Yes, Prushka. He tells her memory, patient and mild: He truly is just like you. ]

[fishfearme]

[Byleth's gentle smile is fleeting, as all of his expressions are. His face slowly blanked into its usual heavy-lidded, bland expression, passively neutral compared to Hayame's open condemnation of their allies.

He understood her perspective. She was a lone voice, and the others said nothing. Claude had said nothing, which startled him. He would've thought his friend would've been more proactive in challenging such views, but instead he had only intervened to stop Byleth from escalating the argument. He hadn't questioned him on it, though, but belatedly he realised Hayame may've seen it as a private betrayal.]

...I assume you include Claude amongst those unwilling to condemn him.