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

[eyesite]

( it's not a statement, so the only picture john is given is the one he can paint with link's words alone. he isn't sure what he's expecting. perhaps there's a part of him that wishes that anyone who comes from a world seemingly torn asunder by what many might consider an apocalypse to resemble his own — a desiccated and ruined corpse of what it once was, cut to pieces that were divided between avatars of fear as their wardens, their gardeners, so the souls consigned to each domain of specific, personal fear could be raised and reaped to their greatest potential. when he remembers it, he thinks of how horrible it had been, but there is some deep and removed part of himself that had been impressed with this efficient and orderly architecture of terror that jonah magnus had managed to construct. perhaps that part of him is the part closest to the Eye, through which they both share a mutual bond.

link might believe that he's done a poor job, but john doesn't think so. still, his reaction isn't necessarily a positive one. it's open, but it's distant and grieved, grateful that link's hyrule had managed to rise from its ashes but... he knows that couldn't be the case for his own world.

when they had come forth to enter the physical plane, the Dread Powers had overwritten the laws of nature and reality to suit their needs. nothing would ever grow in the soil of his world ever again — nothing that wasn't sick, twisted, and bent towards fear and suffering. )

Good. I'm glad that - that it sounds like there's hope for you, there.

( he sounds genuine because he is. even if it's something that alienates them from one another, it's not as though he would wish the fate of his world on anyone else's, regardless of how much misery might want company. )

So once you return... if you are able to defeat this, this "evil" that caused the Calamity in the first place, is that it, then? You would have saved it from both Oblivion and this Calamity.

[appeale]

[ under the pressure of someone else's dominance, whether stern or gentle, Rudbeckia bends in submission without the slightest resistance. although her fear does not subside, it quietens, in much the same way that a child stifles their breathing beneath the covers to hide from a monster. Archangel's presence, the sickening oil slick mixture of compassion and violence, lays itself far too close to the memories of Cesare. ]

I— [ what can he do? nothing. what has anyone ever been able to do for her, no matter how desperately she wants it to be possible? for whatever reason, she has always been unsalvageable. ] Nothing. I-I wouldn't dare ask for anything...

[ the issue is that she doesn't know him well enough. Ruby can swallow whatever poison she must, but it was easiest with her brother, who made it such a habit of feeding it to her. is it worth the gamble, to behave the same way with Archangel just because her fear-addled mind is making that association? if she does – Cesare would not have been satisfied with modesty or demure rejection. Cesare wanted her dependence, wanted to reach out his hand and have her lean into it with unthinking trust. ]

... Just... If you could stay here. I don't know what to do...

[eyesite]

( the nature of his bond to the Eye as its avatar is indeed far deeper and more intimate — or perhaps invasive is a better word? — than that of a priest and their chosen deity. really, that nature is probably far more akin to that of a warlock than anything else; he receives power from the patron entity, and it expects to be fed in return. though, really, between being both an avatar and the Archivist (which is a whole different thing), the lines get strange and indistinct. the one thing that all avatars share with each other is this: they brush against mortal death and, in so doing so, they make a choice to become an avatar. it's a choice that john had made after six months lying in a hospital bed, deep in a deathlike coma: do you die as a human or do you live on as a monster?

at the time, he had made that choice because he thought it was still in his power — he thought it was still his responsibility, with the knowledge and opportunity that he had — to safeguard the world from being undone by any of the Fear's rituals. if he had only known that they were doomed to fail, that he'd be used as the "missing piece" for a successful one himself... he likely would have chosen very differently.

there is something in john that readies, wanting to make itself understood, as liem replies, but — if he believes he understands, he will allow him to it.

he is certain of the state his world would be in if it were restored because, after the Change, his connection to the Eye had been broader and more powerful than it had ever been — he could not only "see" what was happening for some distance all around him, but he could feel it. the torment of each soul, the individual volume and timbre of each unique expression of fear... he had only been there a few hours before Oblivion had claimed it and he had been brought here, but it had been enough to brand his mind with deep and painful comprehension of what he had been used to inflict upon the world.

it had been horrible. but there is also a part of him, the part most closely and intensely linked to the Eye, that had exalted in it — that had felt satisfied and fulfilled there, because that's what the Eye unknowingly gave to him: as one of its avatars, those that had provided this world for it, a seat of honor and privilege at an endless banquet.

if john was more like many of the other avatars he has encountered, purely and cruelly divorced from their humanity, guilt, and empathy, he would likely rank among Meridian. he would wish to restore what he had wrought; he would want to return to where he could walk the world, untouchable and venerated as a God. but he does still have vestiges of humanity, those that afflict him with overwhelming guilt and shame for what he's done, and so he fights against it. he believes whole-heartedly that the safest and kindest fate to ensure for his world, and everyone in it, is what he hopes is peace in Oblivion.

so why is he so conflicted? it's a good question that liem levels at him, and just like many other things — like his nature as an avatar, the presence of the Eye in his shard and what that could lead to, like the world he so determinedly leaves behind — that he would prefer not to discuss.

but, held within the cage of his chest, those truths rage like an animal desperate for freedom. perhaps, as the avatar of awful knowledge and revealed secrets, it's just not in his nature to deny them? he's always been a dreadful liar...

so he replies, but it is obvious in its begrudging nature, pried loose with no small effort. )

...There are people important to me who wouldn't agree with this decision. They'd ( he'd— ) want to go back, to find a way...

But - they don't understand. ( when he says this, an odd quality resonates in his voice; suddenly still and devoid of the tremulous uncertainty and vulnerability he had displayed just a moment before. the clarity that the Eye gives him, perhaps... or maybe it's just easier to write it off as a lost cause than risk everything to try. )

[baltimores]

[ She isn't a traitor; she's a survivor. They both are. It's why they get along so well, why they can understand one another so easily. Nevermind any of the violent acts she's committed — including the most recent ones — and nevermind the perceived need to be a warrior at all times. It doesn't matter because she's a survivor, same as him, so he gets it. Or at least most of it.

Can't begrudge a contingency plan, though. (Especially not one for a situation he wants to come to pass.)

Amos dips his head slightly in attempt to follow Hayame's movements as she returns his soul to him, whole once again. His fingers lightly curly around hers, holding it safe in the palm of his hand as he waits for her to finish. The way she handles it, he feels safe. Nothing bad can, will happen as long as she's holding it, as long as she's giving it back to him like this. At least not here, not in this moment.

And when she's done, and when she speaks, he lifts his head to her, his gaze soft. Silently, he extends her shard to her; without his gravity powers returned to him, he has no way to reciprocate the favour she just afforded him. (Might not actually want him to, the way things had gone last time he'd had access to that part of her body, but that's a moot point since he physically can't reach it anyway.) And his eyes crinkle a little. ]

Quiet's good.

[ They can stay here a little longer. Until the feeling fades, until their attention is called away elsewhere... whatever it is, but they've no reason to disrupt this moment of peace they've successfully cultivated for themselves now. ]

[baltimores]

[ Amos warily eyes Dimitri as he moves to stand, but he can tell that Dimitri isn't able to go at this as hard as he'd like — probably because it's the exact same case for Amos. They'd fought alongside, against one another before when actually in good health; here they're just two men quicker to ache and tire.

So while Amos does tense a little as Dimitri gets back to his feet, he stays in place — both because he thinks there isn't much of a physical threat, and because he knows his own capabilities are seriously diminished. Or at least probably not going to let him do much of anything like he'd hoped. ]

I know.

[ It's not personal. Of course it's not. That doesn't stop him from feeling the assault Meridian wracks on his being, though. (Doesn't make him stop and think that maybe the reverse is true for Zenith and Dimitri either, though.) Because that hope and love and worry Dimitri has for those long dead... It's kind of stupid, isn't it? It could be replaced so easily, if he'd just let him.

A beat. ]

Can't blame a guy for trying.

[ Wry, and an attempt at an olive branch. You absolutely could blame a guy for trying. He'd deserve it.

But not like that's going to get them anywhere now either, is it. So why bother? ]

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri hates this place right now. This dank chamber, the staring idol, the way that the pressure seems to build and build and force him - them - into a direction he doesn't think he wants to go in. But what else cna he do but keep going? ]

...you as well.

[ He manages to smile at least a little, but it doesn't really reach his eye. He's tired. Exhausted.

And he thinks this is all going to go wrong before the end. ]

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri breathes and tries to get himself settled. This whole affair is nothing but unpleasant for him. Something terrible and wretched and stressful. It eats at him and all he can do is keep going. Keep moving forward. To stop means to give up. And that includes here, of course. His throat works in a swallow. ]

I suppose not.

[ Just a touch bitter. But he's used to opposing ideologies. He breathes again and takes a step away, opening the distance. ]

I'm going to leave now.

[ Or as get as far away as he can in this wretched, enclosed little space. ]

[warmare]

[Quiet's good.

In quiet like this, she can pretend that she is a survivor through to the core, to the very end, and not a woman who has sworn to give up her life for the sake of cleansing her honor and saving the orphans she had wronged before a single day passes in her own world. If she can ever return to it. But even knowing that... she had fought to survive the breeding stables. She had fought to survive until her sale. She had fought (just not hard enough) to believe in a future where she might be free. She now fought to survive here, for victory, for-

For her to put aside the pride and the defenses she had honed living in a world where her body was not her own. She did not so easily allow anyone to touch her because every Exhibition Day everyone touched her- or at least, everyone who was interested in potentially buying her. Even her seasonal heats she viciously suppressed and instead tortured herself with painful, useless abstinence... until her failed attempts at regaining her agency at the World's Edge. But...

... She preferred it when they were even.

With a rustle of dry vines that now ran through her long hair, Hayame bends down just slightly, narrowing the foot and a few inches that she has on him. Instead of snatching her shard from his hand and reclaiming it... this way, she can draw the layers of her kimono-like top enough apart that it bares the place on her sternum just below her breasts where her shard is meant to rest.

As if it were some sort of pact, or perhaps just proof of their understanding in this moment... She waits, her halved gaze softer than she should allow it to be.]

[muchalucha]

Ah, and you’re a teacher too!! ¡Maravilloso! I wish I could give you a blessing, since you’ve certainly earned it, yes!

[ Of course she’s delighted by his dedication, since though they’re not her primary domains, they’re still ones all the same. This Abadar god is so lucky to have Liem as a follower, she thinks! Dutiful, kind, and giving… A god couldn’t ask for better!

…Not that he would be fitting to be one of her priests, technically. But! Also technically, she hasn’t had one for a long time, so it’s probably freer to be whatever she designated it as, right? It’s just an idle thought (she’s not seriously going to steal him away) at least, and with that, she’s finished with the dishes, so she’ll set them aside with a proud little nod. One basic task, accomplished! ]

Mm, I’m sorry to hear that you were unwell so often, though… It’s good that Kenos is better! But still, it’s hard to go through things when you’re feeling bad. Especially if it's because of the sun! That's, well, hard to avoid! Unless you're in Highstorm, I guess, but that place is demasiado lúgubre.

[ A much more serious thought is that she’ll have to look into finding him a gift to help with that once they’re back to Kenos-proper. To her, that’s a certainty, even if she doesn’t know how they’ll end up doing that just yet. ]

[bakedapple]

[ Link is comfortable seceding control over the tin can to Sebastian, his interest being laser focused on investigating its contents further. Getting the lid out of the way is an important step to reaching the food inside!

And speaking of which, there it is. In all its tiny, pale, sausagey glory. Link flashes a curious glance at Sebastian before picking up the can by the bottom and bringing it to his nose to smell it. If Link knew what dog wood was, he might muse to himself that these ghastly little meat tubes smell like dog food. Instead, they smell like nothing he's ever smelled before, so he eagerly pops one into his mouth and chews as he hands it back to Sebastian. ]

........Wow. Those aren't good.

[ But he didn't crinkle his nose as he chewed. His evaluation is neutral and matter-of-fact. It seems he's still interested in eating them anyway, or at least watching Sebastian try to turn them into something edible, because he sits himself up on the kitchen counter like he's getting ready to watch. ]

[youngprodigy]

[Her words comfort him.

He believes it too, of course. Fervently. Because he can't imagine for a moment that Meridian will create anything more than a wispy, frail copy. Nothing like the new world Zenith will create.]

That sounds wonderful. We'll both see our families again.

[zauneyete]

[ It's so difficult, to not be swept in by the memories being projected in communion. Silco knows this, and has started to understand, in this odd and unusual place under the tree of life, that it was going to happen, whether he liked it or not. Already he had been drawn in, and Silco was the type to resist such things, but he was weary and weak from fighting the forces of Meridian, and trying to force them out. He was tired, from holding back, from fighting, and from that ever-present cackle just off to his left and behind him, that he could never catch sight of.

He's drawn in by Childe's memories, and at first it's difficult to tell what is going on -- he does not know the man or the woman, but eventually, there's Childe mixed in, the impression of the boy. Then there's something like Kaeya's vision, and Silco does recognize that at least, so he's starting to put together some of the pieces. These... "fake" ones, they were power. Power doled out to those who were desperate to cling to it and find it. Power that was to be desired and held. Power that was not simply given, through either divine right or merit of birth -- and experience that Silco knew intimately well, in fact. It was something he felt incredibly strongly about too, given his own history.

More than that, though...

He has the knowledge, the sense, perhaps, that Childe has one of these. A measure of power that he desired, or craved, perhaps even needed. It is an experience that he knows so well, one that he's fought the tide of over, and over and over. He's known it since he was barely conscious, a child fighting for his life on the streets, and then the mines, and then dunked in the poisonous river of Zaun. He knows it, and he knows the desire to be more -- have more -- and he wonders if this Delusion this Doctor -- so much like Singed that Silco is curious -- developed would be something similar to Shimmer. Does Childe become a monster -- something more than what he is in human form?

As it fades, the memory dissipates, and Silco is left with the distinct knowledge of Visions, Delusions, this Doctor and the Fair Lady, and Childe, who folds his arms, and Silco, close by but not near enough to speak, he has to approach, his steps slow as he leaned against a large, coiled root, and eyed the man, the surface around one eye smeared with makeup, showing that dark sinew and scarring from his own injuries, and unblinking as he regarded the boy. ]

You should be careful, Childe, where your reverie takes you.

One never knows who could be listening in, and not of their own accord.

[zauneyete]

[ Silco does not share in the way that others do. He does not like for the other bearers to know anything more about him than he allows them to, disseminating enough information that they understand who it is they deal with, but never enough for them to truly know him. Only a few have made it past that layer of veneer over fetid, rotting flesh. Only a few know him in a way he did not ask them to, and sometimes... it made him shudder for how well they knew him. It was not allowed, and yet here was another that made him feel like there were eyes watching him from behind, the prickle of gooseflesh, and his hair raised at the back of his neck.

He pulls long, heavy breaths, heaving with effort, from being pulled in, something that Silco so Desperately tries to avoid, but his own clumsiness and refusal to trust long enough to learn how to avoid leaking through communion now leaves him at a disadvantage, until Makoto also pulls away, and Silco feels --

Knows that this boy is like him. Powerless, weak, and he'd seen that the boy was a monster, just like him, ready to take, and take, and take if it meant survival. It did not matter if he'd not seen Vander's face, just like Silco didn't care so much about the creature from his memory, but instead the impression of it leaves him wide eyed, and he forces his breathing to slow, slow, slow as he ran a hand through his hair, an attempt to calm down the panic that threatened to force itself to the surface, until he could say with a mostly calm voice: ]

Well, it seems like you'd be a better fit amongst us after all.

[ Somehow, it's eerily calm, as if they had not just shared something painfully intimate, but Silco lied like it was breathing. ]

[zauneyete]

Hm? Oh, well, I suppose I wouldn't have a choice, now would I?

[ He asks, but his tone is... edged. With something.

Silco knows only one thing, and that is that his daughter was dying in his arms. What room does he have for care for his world? Dextera is not privy to his thoughts exactly, but evidenced by many of those from Zenith -- and perhaps even more deeply, those whom had been part of the Kenoma, on Horos -- there's a sense of hopelessness. Of acceptance of the void that Silco has never quite shook. He hates it,thinking about what would come, if he were to return to that bridge, ignorant of all of this, to experience...

What? He doesn't know. He has a plane, hare-brained though it is, but it's not enough and he knows it. ]

Perhaps I'll choose another, more interesting world, than mine. Perhaps one where there are powers, unlike mine.

[zauneyete]

Hm.

[ He responds. It's a knowing tone, that he levels at Set, but he does not speak of plans that Sebastian has carefully already been instructed to start laying the foundation for, or the fact that it very well may be a touch closer to that dynamic, at least if Silco has his way of manipulating the situation at hand. He certainly wouldn't mind if Springstar started to force its boot down on the neck of Kowloon, only to watch the effects shudder, and watch the ties that bound Springstar and Kowloon start to crumble slowly, ever so slowly.

Though instead of addressing that, he does look back at Sebastian, and tipped his head, one real eyebrow knit together in something that could only be described as surprise. ]

You can't recognize the other thing?

[ He asked, curious.

What could that mean? Certainly, there were plenty of things in this world that were beyond him, and perhaps even beyond Sebastian in some ways. Perhaps that was possible, but even so... it's significant, that Sebastian cannot notice a trace of it. ]

Perhaps the foreman's office will offer us answers then. Chemical compounds, or something of that nature.

[ He turned to finish the way up, before he tried the door, to find that it was locked once again. Go figure. ]

Would anyone like to do the honors?

[wolof]

[ It is so close she can almost taste it. That familiarity, being home -- but it's --

It's cold. Accepting, yes, but cold. It's lonely, in this cold, in the dark. Like being in the Empire Ever Dark, or trapped within Catherine's own Mantle of Woe, like those years she had spent a prisoner, a shade, a specter only good enough to be kept a prisoner for her killer's use. She would be pulled out if needed, from the shadows, the dark, the loneliness.

She breathes in, she breathes out.

A memory of what she thinks of home is. Of a pain so biting, that it ached within her. She'd once told Catherine, that she'd fed her a poison so sweet she craved the taste of it, and that was what she thought of now. Home. A warm fire, friends, jokes, something she'd never had. Not the cold sterility of her mother's Halls, the control she'd held -- the fact that her father had taught her magic just so he could whisper that she was a dear one -- and the friend she'd been forced to murder, when she'd been just a child.

She remembers Catherine's sad eyes, when she'd asked her: "How long have you been pretending to be one of us, Akua?" She remembered the sad look in her eyes, when she'd asked. Akua had not answered, and now...

Now she wonders, if she let herself fall into this dark, would it be the same? Would she still have been pretending, all this time?

Could she accept, that she may have been deceiving not only herself, but everyone else? Was sacrificing her life for nothing? Had giving up Everything, from the potential to become Dread Empress, her people, the Age of Wonders, and herself nothing?

Had she given up everything just to watch it be destroyed in the end? Could she accept that? ]

No.

[ She said, through a throat that felt raw, and strained. She reached out, and grasped the wrist of the man before her, the one that had been stroking her hand, and she gripped it, hard. ] Take it from me, Amos Burton, before I force this torrent the other way.

[ She can feel it, that burgeoning burst of something, and she starts to push against it, rail against it. She cannot. Will not allow it to undo the sacrifices she's made, for herself -- and for others. She'd taken hundreds of thousands of souls, she will do no more. ]

[baltimores]

[ For Amos, moving forward would mean accepting the end and looking to what comes next — not trying to go back. It's a thoroughly incompatible impasse for him, and he watches as Dimitri's throat bobs, incapable of understanding what's going through his head. Why he's bitter, because what's Zenith ever done to anyone?

Nevermind the tone he's met with, though. The words Dimitri offers are all he really needs, and after a moment — as if to verify that they are real, that Dimitri means what he says — Amos nods. ]

Sure.

[ Now that the fight has effectively died (now that Meridian isn't assaulting his very being), Amos is calm in answering. His grip on the wall behind him loosens, dirt crumbling between his fingers, but he still doesn't make any movement to step away himself. Let Dimitri do that before he proceeds the other way. ]

See you around.

[ Even though he can hardly be trusted to not make any threats right now, there are none in his words. Fact is, they'll probably bump into each other again at some point, whether down here or during whatever comes after. And whatever'll happen then will happen — no need to need to make it a whole thing before it needs to be one. ]

[sharmat]

"Pathetically"? (his voice, typically baritone, spikes into shrillness. it is the shriek of an indignant bird. after set's hand was in his hair, he looks the part, too, feathers ruffled into mad disarray. the proud son of house dagoth stares widely down the length of an aquiline nose at set whose mouth bleeds from the clipping pinch of his teeth.

a knee interrupts his fury. it lands where his ribs curve to meet the bundle of nerves that force him to double over, hacking a terrible cough that only worsens with the second hit.

fearing that their disillusionment with each other will cause them to battle until one of them lies dead, there is a flash of fist aimed at set's cheek. at this distance, it connects easily with an audible crack. he shouts even as he soothes it with a touch, palms brushing past set's ears to raise his head from the dirt to cradle.) I was not digging idly in the dirt, you savage wretch, it was the beginning of a ritual for the appeasement of the Oracle effigy! I have never bowed my head to Zenith; I would never bend to the pull of the sap!

(not now. there is no hope for that anymore, no seductive appel du vide that would see him destroying his home for a new life. for nerevar spoke to him. he spoke to him, told him to trust in cyrus. this path will lead them to nirn, and he will do for his lord what the nine divines and the seventeen daedric princes could not—restore their home.

resdayn! resdayn!

bells ring in set's head as their unignorable connection is prized open and communion is slipped into with the grasping fingers of his mind's influence. they are at once adrift alone in an endless sea, and above and below the water's calm surface is house dagoth's poison song, solemn and hopeful with tolls and chimes both low and high. wind is mistaken for wind, but when voryn closes his eyes and focuses, they strengthen into whispers.)

Listen, loyal Set... listen and be still beneath me. Can you hear them? (his back bends, sinking lower so that their faces are close and they may share in a secret. black hair encloses them together in a small private space, breaths mingling and homogenizing.) Listen to the voices of the Sixth House and the tribe unmourned and their prayers—to me. They and my Lord need me, and I shall aid them.

[helloween]

I'm called a human.

[ How odd, to explain this. He'd seen so many human-like Shard Bearers in Kenos that he'd perhaps assumed them all to be the same. Maybe they all have their own special names, too— Hylians... ]

I think there are probably humans who live in forests too, but I'm from a big kingdom called Metallicana. There's a marketplace, a school, a church, a royal palace for the king and princess... all kinds of stuff there.

[ It's easier to ignore the despair in the ritual chamber now that he has his new guest here wiht him! ]

Have you ever met Hylia?

[erbe]

[Tohsaka plucks the shard from the hollow of her neck. Like pulling a pendant off a choker. The gem's size and shape resembles the jewel her father passed down to her. Triangular in shape and... well, it used to be a brilliant ruby color. Right now it's clouded. Reflecting her discord and uncertainty. The dark of an ocean roiling and dangerous from a storm.

The shard is presented in her open, upward facing palm.]

[erbe]

[Rin has to curse herself silently when her first thought of seeing Quetzalcoatl crying is that she looks cute even with tears spilling down her cheeks. Were Rin allowed to be softer she may have even indulge in the inclination to hug the god and soothe her by petting her hair.

But as a Tohsaka she cannot be those things. She cannot be a big sister, a friend, or indulge in such softness.]

Comparatively? I'm not sure I would agree.

[erbe]

I — I have a family responsibility! It's different!

[Just trust her on this one, kid!]

[erbe]

Show me a world in which the struggles of man have become inconsequential and life is at peace, and maybe I'll consider it.

[That world doesn't exist, so they'll just have to make one!!!]

[hauntedking]

[ There's an answering little flicker of emotion. Not exactly a word. Just a little acknowledgement of his words - and then Dimitri steps away, keeping an eye on Amos for a few moments longer and then he's gone. At least for a little while, anyway.

He doesn't like any of this - but Amos is a curious case with him. He respects him, even if he doesn't know him all that well.

A part of him thinks that they might even be able to get along, if it weren't for this clash of needs and wants. ]

[intervener]

But life's never gonna be that perfect.

[ Vash watches her side-long, something curious in blue-green eyes. ]

People make mistakes. That's inevitable, right? Conflict is a part of life, and I don't think you can just take it away.