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

amos burton | exalt | zenith

[baltimores]

i. abandon hope

[ He's been on a dead planet before. A dying one, too. And one in the process of coming back to life, slowly rebooting as a kind of zombie husk, the natural instinct to reawaken overriding everything else — like what to do once awoken. But Amos is under no such delusions for himself; when something on this scale is dying, that's generally kind of it. And if he can avoid any unnecessary misery to his person, he will.

So he settles back down in his space in Highstorm, still as intact as anything here can be, and figures it best to ride things out in relative comfort. Anyone whom he considers to be kin is welcome to use his space as relief; otherwise...

If something is meant to happen, it will. If something isn't, he'll cross that bridge once it becomes obvious it's time. But he's used to things dying, and this isn't really a whole lot different. ]


ii. the ritual

[ He alternates.

One moment he's sitting on the ground, back to the cavern wall, knees hugged loosely to his chest and staring down at nothing, brow furrowed. The next he's up and pacing, restless, shooting glares towards the effigy, like it's to blame for everything he's feeling right now — and he doesn't know what he's feeling. Anguish, distress, despair, occasionally punctuated by a futile slamming of his fist into the cavern wall (pay no mind to the split skin — increasingly bark-like — of his knuckles allowing sap through; he certainly isn't) or by burying his head further into his knees, trying to shut out the world around him, hold on to the one within him.

Because. ]

It can't all be gone.

[ His voice is quiet, directed more towards himself than anyone else. It can't. Can it? He thought he knew, could say so with certainty. Amos has been mired in death his whole life, as accustomed to it as he is to breathing. And yet everything inside him, everything he's feeling right now...

It doesn't make any fucking sense, and it just leaves him painfully confused, wanting to go home to Yima to Lydia home. ]


iii. the purge

[ His body feels a little less like his own, skin increasingly bark-like, little branches starting to force their way out through his clothing as the days have passed. But that seems so much further away now that he knows what he can actually do — how he can fix this. ]

a. amiable

[ At the end of the day, he's just a guy.

A guy who's been forced to feel emotions foreign and incomprehensible to him. A guy with his own convictions, with clearer sight of mind, clearer understanding of what needs to happen. But just a guy — calm, composed, comfortable. There are people here he likes. People here he wants to help. Ultimately for Zenith, yes — so he doesn't have to feel that poison Meridian tried to feed him ever again, a newfound desire to get rid of it — but it's not like he has to be a dick about it.

So when Amos finds you — a friend, someone in need of help, either, both — he'll raise a hand in greeting as he makes his way over, locks eyes with a simple little smile on his face. ]

Hey. How're you holding up?

[ Just a guy who's here to help — you, or Zenith? — and nothing more. ]

b. aggressive

[ At the end of the day, he really doesn't have time to fuck around.

He wants everyone to harmonize to Zenith. Everyone. And while he understands the odds of that aren't likely to happen, that doesn't mean he can't try. Some Meridian-inclined are more headstrong than others; some will never come willingly. And that's fine — because he knows he can force them. Doesn't matter if it won't stick. Doesn't matter if it's not for real. Only matters that it happens while they're down here, where it really matters in the here and now, and he's got no qualms about fighting dirty.

So Amos doesn't bother wasting any time, hitting anyone he spots who fits that particular bill with waves of Zenith. With everything he knows to be right. He doesn't need to say a word, doesn't need to announce his presence — just needs to get the job done, the sooner the better. ]

iv. wildcard

[ feel free to tweak any of the prompts above for our purposes, or hit me with a wildcard if none of these work for you. alternatively, if you want a closed starter, let me know and I'll write one up! plotting comment for reference; arii#6412 or cadiai for plotting. ]

ii

[muchalucha]

[ As soon as the ritual began, Quetzalcoatl had been more concerned with finding her people, honestly. It meant Meri only, with her convictions as strong as they are, but at least finding them all accounted for (if maybe worse for wear), she can give time elsewhere. It probably should be for herself, because there’s something scratching at the back of her mind, but no. The little bit she indulges in the thought just makes her push forward and towards others instead.

There’s probably a Meri or two she finds to talk to first, but eventually, she sees Amos huddled up with his head pressed to his knees. She remembers what Voryn and Ruby had said, and especially Ruby, but… She sees someone hurting and vulnerable, and it’s someone who had been kind, not only to her, but to his people.

So, she comes to take a seat in front of him, sitting cross-legged and comfortable. They’re still only acquaintances (even if their night out in a Highstorm bar had been fun!), so she won’t intrude or assume by sitting next to him. Even before she speaks, he’ll feel the intent behind her words as Communion connects them. She’s warm and bright, but gently so. ]

Hola, señor.

[ Though even without Communion, her Spanish makes it clear who’s joined him. It’s just a soft greeting to start and to see how open he is to talk. ]

[baltimores]

[ He reflexively stiffens as he feels her presence, that warmth — gentle as it is — a shock to his system. Amos pulls his knees in that little bit tighter, but by the time she's done speaking his hands will have already loosened their grips, colour returning to his knuckles. Another moment and he'll have slowly started to lift his head, his eyes meeting hers as he cautiously extracts himself from the ball he'd been trying to form from his own body. ]

Hey. [ He opts for speaking out loud instead of communion; something to better ground himself in the moment than whatever it is going on his head. His voice is rough from both disuse and state of mind, but audible. He's here; he's here with her now, apparently. ] You need something?

[ The question isn't unkind; a genuine ask, because he isn't sure what Quetzalcoatl is doing here with him otherwise. His mind is too muddled with thoughts of home, somewhere he desperately wants to go back to; amid the confusion and distress there is a strong thrumming of longing, of want and need that makes it difficult to focus on her.

But maybe if there's something he can do he can relegate whatever this illness is to the back of his mind. At least for a bit. ]

[muchalucha]

[ Quetzalcoatl sees how he tenses as she sits, and a little bit of the smile falls from her eyes in sympathy. She decides quickly that if he doesn’t respond, then she’ll move on and maybe come back later or just keep an eye on him. She feels empathy for people deeply, but she also won’t intrude. So, she’s also relieved to see him relax a little, and that softness comes through in Communion. ]

Ah- [ She laughs a little, then shakes her head. ] Realmente no.

[ She can hear that it’s not a dismissive question in his tone, so she settles in a little more comfortably. She had wanted to talk to him a little bit about what she had learned after asking about Silco and encouraging other Meri to share what they knew about Zenites, but that can come later, if at all. ]

It’s hard, yes? Bearing… [ She trails off with a note of uncertainty, though it’s light. How do you even put into words what everyone here is feeling? ] Well, whatever it is we’re all feeling! And sharing it too.

[ The longing, that speaks to her especially, but it does feel intrusive to just point it out directly. So, her smile just becomes kinder instead. ]

You don’t have to do that alone, if you don’t want to.

i

[youngprodigy]

[That the place he's called home since the destruction of Horos now lays in ruin is almost inconceivable. He's seen destruction before, but somehow this feels different. Like if they don't survive this, the universe will truly be doomed.

Desperate for shelter, it's a miracle he's even able to find his way here.]

...Amos?

[baltimores]

[ In a room further back from his entrance, Amos stops at the sound of his name. He hadn't necessarily been expecting to hear anyone, but at the same time... makes sense. ]

Yeah. Over here.

[ His voice is tired, resigned as he steps back out into what was once his lobby, rotted chairs and couches taking up some of the space. Floor might be comfier at this rate. He inclines his chin in greeting, lowers it. ]

Anything going on out there?

[youngprodigy]

[Cid sighs a strained little noise.]

It's the bloody Final Days outside.

It... doesn't look good. I can't even begin to guess what can be done.

[Not the most cheerful of greetings, he knows.]

But at least here you're protected from that sun.

iii-b!

[passio]

[ the world is not supposed to look like this. his body is not supposed to feel this way. just when he thought he’d found grounding purpose, it all comes to this—back where he started, long before even horos, fighting tooth and nail to keep his sense of self and his feet moving one in front of the other.

he’s so utterly focused on that goal that he instantly knows when it’s being disrupted. the prickle of some foreign resolve blooms from his shard, but instinct from a long-gone attack on his sanity has him checking his wrist. there’s no longer the sting of the false consciousness orb, forcing him to submit, but it’s a stark reminder that he’s not that person anymore. ]

Stop that!

[ he doesn’t know who is trying to impress their will upon him, but his communion spreads out like a shockwave, bringing with it a desperate wave of meridian energy. ]

[baltimores]

Fuck—

[ It comes out as a hiss through his teeth, Amos' barrage faltering for a moment as that Meridian energy hits him. He's expelled his, given that foreign substance and the bullshit it inflicted on him to Hayame, and to feel it creeping into his psyche, his soul again brings a feeling of intense discomfort. He has to stop, hand braced against a cavern wall to retain his balance, fingers digging into it out of agitation, for support.

And then he doubles back on his efforts, sending another wave of Zenith energy towards Dextera looking to encircle him, submerge him. Because he suspects him to be a vulnerable target, easy pickings in order to boost Zenith's numbers; because it doesn't matter if he'll hate him afterwards; because maybe after the Scorching Isles it is a little personal. Not in that Dextera took a memory from him — when he'd gotten it back he'd been bemused; nice to remember it again but was doing fine without it — but that he'd assaulted him, made him vulnerable, and that.

Fuck this guy, actually. ]

Stop that. [ His communion is harsh, bits of anger starting to slither in like roots seeking somewhere to take hold. ] Just get the fuck over here.

[passio]

[ dextera should be an easy target. his heart has always been vulnerable to suggestion, and the minute he arrived here in kenos, he was inclined to follow yima. it was only stubbornness—and a little fear—that brought him toward meridian in the end, and the warm safety of springstar helped him become more confident in his decision.

now, however, with all that snuffed out and the whole of them trapped underground to steadily go crazier and crazier, his firm sense of reason has given way to wild animal instinct.

he doesn’t want to die. that’s what keeps him fighting back, clinging to meridian energy even as zenith washes over him. ]

—what’s the point? I’m so tired. It hurts. Bring him back, please—

[ his words run through open communion, not intended for amos, just a reflection of success and the mindset of dextera under the influence of zenith. ]

—no! [ then, a burst of light, even as dextera himself collapses back against the wall in trying to retreat. this time, it’s with direction. ] Why do you want to kill the world? Why won’t you listen?

i

[impiety]

I know this is hardly the time, but whose fault do you think this is?

[ Archangel enters the space with ease; his wings folded behind him as he greets Amos not in a fond, friendly way but wanting to cast blame on everyone and everything. He knows that he has been doing everything that he could to save everyone. So, what's going on here? Irritating is putting it lightly. ]

I've seen the apocalypse once before. Somehow, this is a much crueler end than the one I witnessed.

[ Because he can only see the slow starvation or dehydration that awaits them. There doesn't look to be any hope anywhere; he doesn't even have a god to rip the powers from to save everyone. ]

[baltimores]

[ His eyebrows rise at Archangel's impromptu question, clearly not expecting that as he'd entered his space. Amos is resting against a wall facing the entrance, left to tilt his head back to look up at Archangel. ]

No clue. Not sure it even matters.

[ His voice is a tough rough from disuse; with a grunt, Amos pushes himself up off the floor. Sighs as he chooses to lean back against the wall instead, a haphazard glance off to the side — to where rotted and broken down possessions lay beyond another wall, with nothing of any real use left in here — before looking back at Archangel. ]

Apocalypse I've been through wasn't anything like this, either. That was when some asshole was chucking rocks at Earth. Had to trek through a nuclear winter and everything. [ A beat. ] Y'know, didn't realize how good I had it then.

[ He knows how good he's had it since — Highstorm has been good to him, a good home, practically a paradise — but apparently even back then, life wasn't so bad. ]

No asshole here, far as I can tell; nobody to chase down and kill. Not sure what else we can do.

[impiety]

These may be the last moments that we have left, so it matters.

[ Archangel wishes deeply to cast blame upon Meridian for what has occurred. But something stops him. Already, his insides are starting to turn and twist - giving up on Zenith. ]

We've been treated kindly. We've been allowed the opportunity to hope and dream.

[ Perhaps, he is picking something up from being so close to Amos, but it is what he also feels. In that darkness at the bottom of Neuro Tower, he began to lose hope. Dextera stopped listening to him and was going to damn everyone. The young man was going to think only of his happiness rather than the lives of everyone else. And there was nothing Archangel could do about it.

That sense of hopelessness ate at him so much that he felt himself giving up.

But in this world, he could dream and hope for the salvation of all. ]

We cannot give up. Not now... if we must hunt down and kill someone, we should have it be our enemies. A small sense of satisfaction as we all die together, perhaps.

iiia

[oomfies]

[ It is strange and vaguely alarming, seeing Amos like this. Amos' hands may be coarse and rough sometimes, but they are still soft. Lottie remembers when she held it, the touch being pleasant. She isn't touching him at this moment, but she can already see the physical differences in how it'd (he'd) feel as he waves that hand. Her eyes zero in on it, still a healthy enough distance to where her immediate expression isn't visible. Lottie's taken to one of the tunnels sprawled out from the Chamber, hiding herself away and actively fighting against the compulsion to return — she doesn't want to be seen like this. Arguably, she doesn't even want to be seen.

Her health has been actively on a downwards spiral, one that — despite her new alignment, the odd sort of hope twitching inside her — makes her really think she won't last very long. And will she? Even through this conversation? Amos is a die hard Zenite, through and through, and she wonders if he'll be upset at her for what she's done. But he has to understand, right? They can still be friends, right? Can he even tell? Will he?

She looks up at him through her spot on the ground, feeling small, feeling more unsure of herself than ever with her pale complexion and labored breathing (something she deliberately tries to hide, because it's not like she ever told him she's had serious health issues, before, and truthfully she has never wanted him to know). ]

Hey.. Um— I'm fine! Fine. [ She answers, eventually, sounds like she hasn't used her voice in quite some time with the way it cracks. ] Just, you know.. Wanted some fresh air.

[ Yes, she is trying to make a very ill fitting joke. It's so bad and comes out strange even to her, enough to where she doesn't laugh, just awkwardly smiles. ]

[baltimores]

[ His smile fades as he gets close enough to actually see the state Lottie's in, pale and down on the ground as she is. It's not like he can blame her — he'd felt that way too not long ago, before he'd reharmonized — but it still elicits a small, thoughtful frown as his hand falls to his side. As he crouches down in front of her, resting his elbows on his knees.

His now slightly spiky elbows, thanks to the beginnings of branches starting to offshoot from the backs of his arms. His hands come to a rest between his knees, mostly coated over by now; stiffened and rough and just something he's going to have to deal with for the time being. He tilts his head slightly at her answer, bark starting to intermingle with his beard at the sides of his face, little branches starting to poke through his temples like horns.

But Amos' face remains open, eyes expressive. There's doubt in them, not really buying her joke. Or her non-answer. But more than that there's concern, because Lottie is his fashionable friend who owns a store and a hair curler who shows him new lunch spots and introduces him to new coffee orders. And yeah, those aren't things here, but she is also decidedly not herself right now.

He sighs as he looks at her, debating if he should just accept her answer at face value and leave her alone, but there's something else off. He isn't entirely sure what it is, just that it's enough to make him stay. To press further. ]

You sure? [ And for as different as he's starting to appear now his voice is soft, friendly. ] I mean, I know we've been mired in the shit all week now, but I've never seen you like this before. Anything I can do?

[ He can't go on a coffee run or anything like that, but maybe there's still something? He just... Lottie's his friend, so the need to help her is strong. ]

[oomfies]

[ Even half made of bark, maybe not even human anymore, Amos is looking out for her. Lottie feels impossibly touched, finds herself not really minding that he's seeing her for who she truly is (gross, allergy ridden, pale, disgusting). She almost feels bad that she even tried to insist she was fine, because he sees right through it. But still, he plays along, humors her like she doesn't look like shit. Her head cants up at him, tongue swiping at her lips for better lack of anything to say.

It's true, he hasn't seen her like this before. No one was ever meant to see her like this, a few shades sicker than how she usually wakes up. She's never seen him like this before, either, bark sticking out of his body and intermingling with his beard — he's so very different from the Amos she remembers, in her mind, but he is still the same. He's her Amos, so she reaches out for one of those hands resting between his knees, seeking out familiar comforts in unfamiliar environments.

Her voice cracks— ]

I don't know.

[ She meant to touch him to hold his hand, but she finds herself just.. Trying to get to know the new him, she guesses. Gingerly and softly touching at his 'skin', crying because none of this is normal and she just hates how this is happening. To them, to him, to her. ]

I don't know if there's anything anyone can do..

IIIIa

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri's on edge after so many days of this. After the last month, with the tree, with the blight, with everything. He's tired - incredibly tired - but his conviction holds, even with the Zenith energy still rotting in his blood. He doesn't want it - doesn't want to abandon the idea of his world or what might be restored. He's been resting, trying to get his strength back - but he knows what comes next. Or rather what needs to happen. His good eye flickers as he notices someone approach.

A face he recognizes. ]

...Amos, isn't it? I never got a chance to check on you after... Vander.

[ He sounds weary. ]

Tired. But aren't we all?

[ He knows what "winning" means. But he's not ready to go that far. Not yet. ]

[baltimores]

Yeah. [ He's Amos, yes; he's been very tired recently too, yes. Some of that weariness still sits in his bones, Meridian's influence on him fading but not forgotten, his body still carrying pieces of it with him before he can shed their memory entirely.

It has been an exhausting few days — but with Zenith comes clarity, and a light at the end of the tunnel. Thanks to that his expression remains amiable, a genuine happiness to see Dimitri even amid all this. ]

'ppreciate the thought, but it's alright. A lot's been going on since the Vander thing, huh. [ Which is one way of putting it, but still. Not like it isn't true. There's a sheepishness to him as he leans against the cavern wall, trying to make himself somewhat comfortable amid all this. Using it for support. ] Still working on getting my strength back, but, you know. It's coming.

[ A beat, as he takes a second to look Dimitri up and down, like he's evaluating him. His health. If there's anything he might need that Amos can give him or what. ]

You getting there too yet?

[hauntedking]

I understand.

[ He knows Amos is Zenith; he also knows that he still believes unerringly in the mission he has for himself. In restoring home and friends and people. But he's not at a point where he's ready to turn it into a battle.

Although he's probably getting there, considering the pressure they're all under. ]

I'm... also getting there, I suppose. The last few days have been difficult. Especially with the lack of adequate sustenance and the... Oracle...

[ He glances toward the effigy and its hollow gaze. ]

My head feels as if it might burst, sometimes.

iiia

[wolof]

[ It is an old, familiar whisper in Akua's own mind. She imagines she can almost hear Catherine in the back of her voice, asking her why she's pretending for these people, when they both know she is a villain through and through. If their world was destroyed -- if the Ealamael had its way, what is there worth saving? -- but Akua knows that this voice must be a lie. It has to, right?

What was all the guilt she felt, if it wasn't worthwhile?

She sits, alone, shaking. She is easy prey to Amos, who knew that there was only one thing that kept her from harmonizing as it was. Had she not immediately reverted, when the one memory of her greatest sin was taken away? When the thing that she had done, was fully removed?

She could have been Zenith -- could so easily go that way. Her limbs look wooden, and the spill of pitch black flowers blooming from her hair is barely visible until close, but her head snapped up, and she looked at Amos when he approached, her jaw clenched tight. She had not forgotten, had not forgiven his first sin. But he had willingly joined up with her and Hayame to save Vander, so perhaps there was flexibility there. ]

Why do you even ask? Unless you are here to trade...

[ She pumps all of her resolve into being steel, when she feels shaky, and uncertain herself.

She has only felt this uncertain once before, and her heart aches from it. ]

[baltimores]

[ He can sense that uncertainty as much as he can sense the Zenith within her. The latter calls out to him, sings to him, its very presence intoxicating; the former, meanwhile, seems a lot more like a sign. It isn't something for him to bask in or feast on — it's a means to an end.

His smile doesn't change, still amiable, a little blank. It's not like he doesn't mean it; more that he's bad at it, a failing to properly convey a simple human emotion. Maybe it's because he doesn't really mean to be helpful, maybe it's because he's a simple idiot; that's for Akua to decide.

The choice Amos has to make is a much simpler one — where to sit? How to talk to her? — and he opts to bring himself to the ground right in front of her. His sit is a little awkward thanks to the bark-y texture his skin is taking on; unlike Akua, though, there's no sign of plant life. Just the beginnings of barren branches beginning to poke through his clothes, small offshoots from his limbs, his temples.

He's made himself comfortable, is in for the long haul, however long it actually is. ]

Nah. I don't think I need anything from you. [ He'd been relatively quick to reharmonize. Desperate, and Hayame had been the best trading partner he was going to get. ] It's more like I think I can help you.

[ He is Zenith; she knows that. He has hurt her; they both know that. His intentions are probably pretty obvious.

But right now? He's offering her the courtesy of throwing the ball back in her court first. ]

WILDCARD,,,

[redsoil]

[ because you know the jocks are understimulated...

It is to the side of the Oracle, that Set summons Amos. Radiant with frustration in Communion, he spits venomous, cruel things and demands the man's sole attention. The frost of his wrath, his large fists and strong arms. By the time Amos arrives, Set is already standing in waiting. His fingers curled into claws that cannot grow, his pupils thinned into enraged slits and his teeth sharp, bared at the man's approach.

Like an angry cat, he hisses: ] There you are! Sewered pu djed en-ek — !

[ and several other ancient egyptian profanities.

he hopes amos just comes right in swinging, because he certainly is going to lunge across the room to do just that. ]

A VERY WILD CARD...

[baltimores]

[ Set gets his wish.

Amos stalks up to the Oracle, each stride full of purpose, feet coming down hard on the ground with each step. His expression is one of tight anger, the space of his communion presence cold and feeling as though it may burst at the seems of any moment. Something stuffed into a bag far too small for it, threatening to spill over at any moment.

And because he's depowered here, he gets to feel it all. In these new worlds he's been in this would be the part where he loses all semblance of self as he drowns in rage, becomes a feral animal that only knows how to kill. But he's of sound and clear mind here, fists balled, knuckles white, as he takes a swing directly at Set's head, awkwardness from the bark growing out of his skin and hunger pangs be damned.

There will be no inhuman strength, no claws, no fangs — just a 5'11, 180 lb. street punk who throws fists first, asks questions never. ]

ii. can i have....2 amos? double amos threads...am i perhaps too greedy?

[consolation]

[For the first and likely only time, Caren might come across as much larger than he is. It isn't that Amos himself is particularly large, no matter how he conducts himself - but that Caren herself is typically all that much smaller. Bloody (sap is still blood), curled into himself, distressed, the space Amos occupies seems to decrease while Caren herself diffuses like smoke, wider and stretched far and vanishing.

She doesn't speak directly to what torments him. Maybe she shouldn’t have to, when her own blood snakes through her veins with the same flickering tongue, filling her with thoughts and feelings and energies she didn’t invite. For her, a woman who invites and carries the burdens others can force onto her as if it might bring them closer to salvation, it’s been difficult to resist the thoughts and feelings coalescing around her. You cannot invade a border that is open.

But when she approaches Amos, there seems to be so little of her own spark in her presence. Weak-kneed, she crouches beside him, then drops completely to the earth to sit there. In the dampening of her connection to her faction, she’s felt weaker, yes but, paradoxically, there has also been less pain.]

You are suffering. What will relieve you?

[Caren cannot tell him an answer to the full extent of his question. The nature of faith is to question and to find answers in belief. If anything, she can at least guide her eyes.]

2 caren...

[baltimores]

[ He lifts his head up at her voice, turning it to look at her. His eyes are dull and tired, lips slightly parted as though on the verge of starting an answer — but for a long moment, nothing comes.

Instead, his gaze roves over her as though there'll be something in her physical form. She does, indeed, have a bigger presence than him — much bigger, because where he carries himself physically, there is always a part of him that remains small and uncertain. A child who needs his mother's guidance all throughout life, and there's none of that to be had here — not even as she carries that air about her, as she seems better suited for this than he could ever be. He's left to curl around the shell of himself as though that will protect him from the foreign sentiments worming their ways in (it won't), too hurt by the desperation of what must still be out there, beyond his grasp but out there, to do much more.

Just try to keep himself alive, but for once, he wants more.

He meets her eyes again when he's finally able to speak. ]

I don't know. [ It could be a copout of an answer; it's true, delivered with a plain sincerity that would make it odd to question. ] I've never... I don't know what's going on. Why I'm feeling this way. I know everything's gone, but I can't shake this feeling that it's not. And it...

[ It hurts, it hurts so badly via a pain he's never felt before, did not know existed, and it brings forth a pathetic, childlike answer with no obvious means of fulfilment, no way to make this shit stop. ]

I just want to go home.