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

[fishfearme]

...

[Byleth's expression didn't change, but it was clear he was pondering the offer deeply. While he had asked Jyn if she was sure, he wasn't himself. He barely tolerated Communion as it was, so this... felt like several leaps beyond what he was comfortable with. But this corruption in his veins, this doubt, these voices, the swelling memories that were cast in such a vile light were almost too much to bear.

Which would be less painful?]

...understood. Ah, do you mind closing your eyes? I do not want to reveal the location of my shard. It is something I try to keep secret.

[vallt]

[the anxiety and tension rippling through the communion space, both her own and not, is acute. it's sharp. and, in some ways, it gives more ground to her choices; anyone who'd readily agree to something like this without it would be someone to have doubts about.

again, she nods, just to cement it.]

Of course.

[it's said more softly than anything she has so far as she does what she's told (maybe for once in her life), eyes sliding closed. because secrets, the vulnerable ones, are something to take seriously, something important — and jyn will guard what's important. in the shared space, it's possible he feels that genuine resolve.

still, she adds:]

You can trust me.

[(which has to go both ways, after all, doesn't it? she's making that choice now.)]

[fishfearme]

Thank you for your understanding.

[He genuinely was grateful. He knew some might take offence to such a request, but to him it was common sense to hide your Shard and its usual placement. Death here was transient. They can die in a myriad of ways, but so long as the Shard remained safe... they could survive. If it were possible Byleth would've locked his Shard away and hidden it away from his person, but alas.

Once he was certain Jyn had closed her eyes and wasn't peeking, he carefully loosened off his tunic and reached underneath it. His Shard rested over his unbeating heart, a polished stone with the colours of sunrise's blush, marred by a blackened Crest emblazoned on the front. The Crest looked as if it had been branded on, with the edges slightly smudged, as if the Shard had scorched a little. He took his Shard from its resting place, letting it stay in his palm as he tightened up his tunic and adjusted his cloak to hide what he'd been doing (though no doubt Jyn would've heard the rustling of cloth from his movements).]

I'm done. Do you wish for me to close my eyes as you take out your Shard?

[vallt]

[with how close their minds are now — too close, as has been the case with everyone trapped down here — jyn can feel that genuine gratefulness. it brings a small smile to her face, briefly flickering there before fading again, as she waits with her eyes closed. once trust has been given to her, she'll never betray it.

as she's started to learn how to extend it again, slowly, piece by piece, it's become more apparent to her just how precious that is to hold onto.

at the confirmation, jyn opens her eyes again, noting the shard in his hand, and opting to ignore the other details, for his sake. she considers for a moment, then:]

That'd be helpful.

[if she's made her choice, that now cements it; resolve ripples through the communion.

now all she has to do is wait for byleth to follow suit, to close his eyes in turn.]

[fishfearme]

Alright.

[Byleth curled his fingers over his Shard completely, ensuring he had a firm grip of it as he rested it against his chest - a protective gesture - and closed his eyes. This, too, was a sign of trust: though he had pride in his reflexes and ability to sense danger, there was a measure of trust in closing his eyes around someone, especially when he had his literal life in the palm of his hand - easy to snatch away.

The thought of peeking or anything didn't so much as cross his mind. He kept his eyes very firmly closed, and even turned his head away, so it would've been impossible to anyways.]

[vallt]

[jyn knows a sign of trust when she sees it — and this one is enough for her.

the shift of her shirt's fabric is quick as she reaches to pull her shard, glowing soft white, from her chest. she reaches, too, for the knife she's kept with her — not the original one she'd lost a month and some time ago, but its shit replacement; it can get the job done, though, as she digs the tip of the blade into her index finger until it draws blood.

it's not pretty, but it gets the job done.

laying her shard flat in one hand, she extends the other across the small distance between them — her bleeding finger and her knife, both.]

You can cut with this, [she says, an offer and a signal for him to open his eyes both.] It'll be better than anything else.

[no, she hasn't wiped it, but. details.]

[fishfearme]

[Byleth opened his eyes at the sound of her voice, and saw both the offered knife and her bleeding finger. He considered it for a moment, before carefully taking it and wiping the smudge of blood off with the gloved pad of his thumb.]

You should clean this knife after I use it. My blood can be toxic to other people if ingested or absorbed into wounds.

[With that, he started working his glove off to also carefully cut... the side of his index finger, rather than the pad of it. Less likely to be irritated by him touching things and easier to heal - and it won't bleed much either.

(He also made sure to wipe the knife clean on his trousers until not a smear of blood remained.)]

Who should go first? Or shall we do it at the same time?

[vallt]

[as he says that, her brows lift.]

Maybe I want toxic blood on my knife, [she half-mumbles, contrary for the sake of being contrary.] Might make anything I'm trying to do it with easier.

[but, regardless of anything she actually says, she's making a mental note. and notes, too, that he's already started to wipe the knife for her before he returns it. considerate — like his offer to close his eyes while she'd taken her shard out in return.

jyn won't fast forget anything like that.

before any feeling has the chance to flow in the shared space more than it has, she answers:]

Same time. That'll be faster.

[the words are hardly even out of her mouth before she's moving her bleeding finger over his shard, holding it there until a drop of blood splashes down onto it.]

[fishfearme]

[Byleth nodded, and as Jyn reached out to drip blood onto his Shard - an act that required him to ruthlessly squash an instinctive retreat backwards - Byleth mimicked her, dripping his own blood onto her Shard.

The connection between them amplified tremendously - Byleth's presence, which was normally so contained in Communion, like someone had painstakingly folded a piece of paper over and over into a dense, unknowable wedge, almost seemed to unfurl like a flower touched by the sun. With that unfurling, however, came a jumble of confusing and conflicting emotions that crashed forth like a rockslide, unprocessed and cataclysmically loud.

Frustration and resentment and muted anger and sadness and guilty pleasure and homesickness, so much homesickness, a wistful longing for home - which wasn't for a location as such, but a person and an experience, of: long, cold night and long, hot days, scrubbing blood from his cloak and armour, trudging across the wilderness from battlefield to battlefield, the heavy hand clapped on his shoulder and his father's approval/praise/acceptance while others gazed at him in revulsion and fear. Byleth's home was more than simply Jeralt, it was the experience of travelling with him, of taking his orders and fulfilling his missions, to achieve that "well done, kid" and affectionate shoulder clap, to know that someone loved him despite his strangeness and unnaturalness, that even if everyone hated him and called him a demon, Jeralt would always love him, always, always, always.

He needed the world back for that. That couldn't be recreated - shouldn't he recreated. It couldn't be copied, that exact experience, those exact emotions, these exact memories. This is why he is Meridian, this childish desire to return home, to slot neatly back into the life he had with Jeralt had before, where the only thing he had to worry about was meeting his father's expectations and winning the next engagement - to make him proud, to make him happy, no matter what.

For Jyn, the aftermath of that rockslide of emotions settling would leave her with a calm resolve, as if it had laid down the solid foundations despite the initial chaos. The Zenith energy had successfully transferred from Byleth to her.]

[vallt]

[even on the best of days, her own mind is a mess, muddled and tangled; as the connection between them amplifies, that tangle becomes worse than she's ever known. only it's — familiar in some ways, in many ways, what she's getting. it's a reflection. it's....

into the shared communion, first, comes the cold fear of a young child who's lost her parents — who's forever lost any approximation of home. fear becomes resentment, becomes bitterness, becomes stashing away all connection to a coward, a traitor of a father to the point that any reference to it had felt like a violation.

(it especially had from the alliance's general draven; it's a shudder of a feeling that comes with his voice:

imagine if the imperial authorities had found out who you really were, jyn erso?)

and she feels —

trapped, as she often as — in the cave on lah'mu, in the bunker on tamsye prime after saw had left her behind, in the cargo holds of imperial freighters, in well more than one prison cell.... and trapped as she is right now, underground, with no unsealed exits.

muted anger from byleth serves to ignite her own, as easy as breathing. there's the sense that it's pushed her through her days and against nearly every person she's encountered; it's looked for fights everywhere, because that's what it means to survive under an empire. it's what's needed to take a chance against that empire, fueled a resolve that had driven her to act in spite of an alliance council unwilling to do so.

(her own voice: what chance do we have? the question is 'what choice'?)

but all fires burn out, eventually — and so, too, does jyn come to die, on the sands of scarif.

the residual warmth of the meridian within leaves her, transferring to byleth, and in its place —

zenith runs through her veins instead, cool and calm. peaceful, like what had come over her in her last moments; like cassian's voice in her ear (your father would've been proud of you, jyn), like the feeling of his arms around her as the blast had come closer.

like what had at the end, for the first time since she was a child, been a feeling of home.

it's that, his longing, her vague flickering memory, that lingers between them as the connection starts to pull back — different, but also the same.

and so are they, and their choices; different, but also the same.

when jyn casts a line into the silence, her voice is soft.]

Did that help?

[fishfearme]

[Never before had Byleth been so intimately connected with someone, and the experience left him almost dazed - unmoored from that moment as the connection between them simmered into something less like an exposed nerve, and more like a fresh burn. He realised after a long pause that Jyn had spoken, the words meaningless until they were processed several times through his stalled mind. He stirred from his thoughts slowly. Focused.]

...yes, a little.

[And it was the truth: while the connection had unearthed a new upheaval of a different nature, the gnawing doubts and purring voices regarding Jeralt's possible demise and the death of his world were more like mumbles. It was a little easier to breathe. A little. But a little was always better than nothing, as Jeralt would always say-

Jeralt. The homesickness, still churning close to the surface like silt in a disturbed pond, speared him squarely through the gut, and it took more effort than it should've to turn it aside, sequester it into the corner of his mind that he was religiously using for such yearning and longing. He can't afford to become distracted.]

Thank... thank you, for the trade. I apologise for any... strangeness, on my side of the connection.

[He always ensured to keep an iron grip on his emotions, to stuff them down before they bubbled up into something deranged and uncontrollable. The fact that his emotions had just sort of, exploded, during that trade - where Jyn's had been far more controlled - was causing a bud of mortification to slowly bloom.]

[vallt]

[in the aftermath of the connection, in the silence that's taken up the space it'd once filled, jyn thinks she should probably feel... something. she should feel anger, maybe, that even if she'd known things could surface, they'd gotten much more personal than she'd expected. she should have the kneejerk reaction of fear, revulsion, and everything in between of her given name being exposed — a possibility that's been a threat to her safety and everything she's tried to do just to exist ever since she was a child.

she should feel something, any of these things.

but any flickers of them are burned out, and don't have the means, in this moment, to rekindle.

instead, she mostly feels exhaustion, bone-deep, creeping in again — the toll of sleepless nights, and of the ritual they've just done; that's more than familiar by now. but beyond it, there's something new: lingering zenith energy settling under her skin, and it's... peaceful.

she doesn't know what to make of that.

what she can do, though, is acknowledge byleth's gratitude with a nod, and answer his question. not with her first thought (it's dumb to apologize, because that seems unkind), but:]

It wasn't that strange, [she offers him instead, lifting one shoulder in a shrug before dropping it down quickly again.

things, people, that are understandable aren't strange.]

Do you — [glancing over at him, she pauses as she searches for how to phrase this —] need someone to watch you?

[fishfearme]

...no, I'm fine.

[Byleth had never been good at lying, and this fell particularly flat. He clasped his Shard tight against his chest, his gaze sliding off into the far distance, as he took two deep breaths, focusing on the mechanical movement to slowly disperse these emotions rattling through him sharp-edged needles.]

Well, compared to before, that is.

[He reluctantly looked back at Jyn, his hold loosening on his Shard into something less like a death-grip.]

I was just taken off-guard. I'm unused to such... intense feelings.

[vallt]

[it's a necessity, really, to know when people are full of shit — and it doesn't take much effort at all to be able to see it in byleth. her brow quirks up, momentarily, before he corrects himself, shifting into something a little more genuine. no less hesitant, or spooked, but more honest.

when he meets her eyes, there's a sliver of a soft smile on her face, spontaneous but lingering.]

I'll stay with you for a while, [jyn offers, an amendment to, a rephrasing of, her previous question; the only form of reassurance she actually knows how to provide.] If you want.

[she'll find cassian again eventually, she thinks; it's not like he'll be hard to find, given that there isn't far for anyone to go here. for now she leans back, releasing a long exhale.]

[fishfearme]

[Byleth made a short movement with his head - not quite a shake or a nod - but he didn't verbally tell her to leave either. If anything, he seemed to have lapsed into deep thought, his gaze landing on the Shard in his hand, where the Crest of Flames was just visible amongst the swirls of pink and blue and white.]

...do you miss him still?

[The question was as abrupt as it was quiet, and Byleth didn't elaborate on it, his gaze still on his Shard.]

[vallt]

[somewhere in the silence, her eyes have slipped closed — only for a moment, but just long enough that when byleth's question reaches across the space between them, they snap open.

and for another stretch of time, they stare, watching byleth fixate on his shard. they could narrow, but they don't; instead, they just watch.

jyn's voice could take on an edge when it speaks, but it doesn't; instead, it's just as quiet as his.]

My father?

[she asks it even if she doesn't need to — because she knows. what's passed in the understanding between them can't not be known now.

if the cave in her mind has had cracks in its walls lately, then what they've just shared has blown those walls up completely, its contents open and exposed. she's back in the moment she tries to avoid, if she can — on eadu, in the rain, as the dying voice of galen erso barely manages, i have so much to tell you. galen erso, a man who hadn't been cruel, who'd given his life to something much bigger than himself, who'd started something that jyn had finished —

but like it'd been for fifteen, twenty years before that moment, his face isn't clear in her mind. the mass of emotion balling up in her chest and clawing into her throat isn't clear. and —]

I didn't know him. Not really. [— is the only thing jyn can find it in herself to say. she shrugs, deflecting.] Can't miss something you don't know.

[fishfearme]

...I see. I understand.

[And he did. Because while he knew Jeralt, there was another parent whose face he didn't know, whose voice he had never heard, and who Jeralt barely spoke about out of grief, but whose sacrifice had ensured he lived and continued to live when he otherwise would've died before he even drew breath. The Crest Stone that functioned as his heart had been his mother's heart before, and she had willingly pulled it from her chest and given it to him, a fervent wish for him to live, even if she never got to see it come to pass.

It was a different kind of love to have, he supposed. A love for someone you had never met, but who you wished you did.]

But I think you can miss something you don't know... at least, you can feel grief that the opportunity to know them was lost.

[He finally looked up from his Shard, but his gaze was still very far away.]

At least, that's what I feel. What I dread...

[Sothis once told him that the human mind could only store so much information at one time, and it was pragmatically ruthless in what it tossed aside. If he spent too long in Kenos, would he eventually forget Jeralt's face, his voice? It made him feel sickly cold, an emotion too foreign to him to give words to.]

[vallt]

[there's a part of jyn, even now, that has the impulse to tell him that, no, he doesn't understand. it's that default part of her she presents as an outward face, teeth gnashing and sharp points at the ready, the one that's kept her alive and kept others at such a safe distance away that they wouldn't even imagine coming close. default — and easy.

but even if it's easy, it falters. she could blame the exhaustion, she could blame — well, any other number of things, and if she did, all of them would circle around what they can't come back from.

and so, like she'd known exactly what his question had been about, she can accept that understanding goes both ways. she can meet his gaze, distant as it is, and —]

Maybe, [she can concede. it's soft, and not at all unkind.

(in her mind, she's eight years old again, tucked warmly, safely into bed. carried to sleep by her father pressing a kiss to her forehead, by his whisper: stardust.)

swallowing thickly, she changes track before she's forced to dwell on anything for too long. asks:] What do you dread, though, if it's in the past?

[fishfearme]

I dread forgetting.

[He didn't expand beyond that, because to do so would force him to wander down the logical route of: if he forgets, then it won't be long until all the little facts and trivia that made up his image of Jeralt would be eroded away too. Then what's left for him? Jeralt was his home, the one he was relentlessly driven to return to. If that was lost, then what was left for him?

Unless he switched gears and dedicated himself wholly to simply saving Jeralt, rather than the entire world...

(It seemed he hadn't purged all of Zenith from his soul...)]

The mind can only contain so much information. [he decided to say instead, something nice and clinically factual.] As I experience new things, there's a chance they may overwrite the old, that which is still precious to me. That's what I mean.