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

[diversionist]

[ cassian andor does, in this moment, feel like a child.

flayed open and vulnerable, completely transparent to the god in front of him; and the reciprocity of this does not bring him the relief he would've expected. has felt, the last times he traded energies. cassian andor is a spy, and secrets are his trade, information the currency of his profession. the openness going both ways is a safety net; when both have something to lose, have a blaster to the other's weak point, then they're more likely to work harmoniously. sometimes, anyway. shared interests can overcome much, if not all, hostility. a lesson he learned quickly of the rebel alliance itself, strained as the relations across its different cells often are.

cassian andor is a spy, and no one can ever be allowed to see the whole of him. not even his allies, not even most of his superiors, and certainly not anyone when he's out in the field. except that obfuscation has been a necessity since he was a child: nine years old and being taught how to lie about his name, his age, his home planet, his family. the only mother he's ever known died two decades later, the last person left to know his whole story. and even she hadn't lived to see him become a weapon in the hands of the rebellion. all this to say: it isn't until set lifts a palm to his face, infinitely gentle in this touch, that cassian realizes he was awaiting condemnation. even the words in another world's tongue, comprehensible to him through communion, bear no sharp edges at all.

(unlike cassian. he's bidden, do not let this comfort dull your edges, and the whisper of a response that comes is that he is nothing but sharp edges. there is no softness left to him. even soothing, cleansing zenith cannot change that.)

he swallows. and he looks at this ex-tyrant who would beg for an alignment even as it burns his hands, eyes bright with tears, for love. something as pure and simple as the love for a child; and, bound in communion like this, a love that cassian feels as keenly as if it sprang from his own heart.

(on the day of maarva's funeral, he had been asked to take care of himself. he had answered, rueful, it's too late for that. that is the sense that filters through communion now, without words, in response to this god's blessing. lifted from his war, he has some semblance of a purpose here in this conflict and these people. purpose, not life, is what's left to him.)

he swallows, and he says nothing. ]

[redsoil]

[ Set has never wished to change hearts. His existence alone would win the idolatry of armies, inspire warriors to act as though they were truly the avatars of his peerless might. He is the sole red-head, a crimson banner below which Meridian could wave. And he is full of doubt, poison that seeps into every crevice of his soul and whispers in the patient, far-sighted voice of his own kin that he cannot stand for the people of Kenos, because he is a lie. A false god, one who cannot remember his own ascension and was crafted in the image his own brother set forth for him. All power, all purpose, all shape of him belongs to Osiris.

It is a miserable existence, punctuated with the desperate play-pretend he performs to ensure no one sees him for what he is. A painfully human divine, who both seeks and spurns mortal life. Who tries to understand, and proclaims he will never. He is a being of vast personality, unending experience and insanity — the contradictions within him almost obscene, but notably right. And Cassian Andor is a man, much like that. A spy, who functions in the shadows and cannot look at himself without wanting to pick apart every failure, every time he fell short.

He thinks of Cassian falling. Of the cool Zenith energy that he gave him, because he needed it. Of Cassian, pouring his battered heart out before Set and thinking he would be condemned for his sins. As if Set had any right to condemn him. As if he could not pour himself out alongside those sins and say we sing the same songs, and they are naught but a scream. He holds Cassian's face, holds his hand, and looks across his face. He does not need to search, for it is still all there. ]

It is good to meet you, Cassian Andor. [ His surname, he has found in their connection. ] Whatever becomes of us, I feel I will always think that of you.

[ And slowly, he begins to pull back. It is so much, to be known and not blamed. To be known and not shamed for his weakness, to not inspire disgust for what was done to him. For not being strong enough, for not being enough of a man, a father, a husband, a god. ]

[diversionist]

[ he closes his eyes.

it is so much, to be known and not blamed. and yet it doesn't even come to him to blame set for what was seen. what should he condemn? that someone hurt this god and violated him in a horrific way? no. what should he condemn? that set loves a child, that this child loves him in turn, so much as to fight his own nature, a whole faction, for him? no. what should he condemn? sins long past, atrocities committed, choices looked upon with shame? is cassian any better than him in this regard? can he really not understand doubt, self-recrimination, wearing a mask as and when it's needed?

what should he condemn, then?

he breathes out, slow. and in his mind, he holds that answer as a fragile, precious thing. whatever becomes of us, i feel i will always think that of you. it is not a small sentiment. it is not a thing that is easily forgotten. it isn't even easily heard, easily held. and with the cool waters of zenith closing over his head, filling his lungs, he starts to feel the magnitude of whatever. choices made in necessity are as inescapable as any other. he knows that as well as he knows his own name.

he opens his eyes, and he lets his hand fall from set's shoulder, as the god begins to pull away from him. ]

Don't let it get this bad again, if you want to keep your promise.

[ is such a cold response, on its face, to that assurance. isn't it? and yet there's no possibility of it being taken so: not with the genuine flush of concern that accompanies what he says. not even jyn knows that he was a caretaker for much of his life before the rebellion; but if he had anyone left to return to — and set does. paradoxical to the alignment he's chosen, he wants set to keep his promise. ]

[redsoil]

[ They have to part, they cannot remain lock-and-step together — feeding off of one another's convictions, knowing them for unattainable so long as the other stands in their way. The war god does not mourn the fact that to return to his world, he may have to trample upon the fires within Cassian Andor. That he will have to wrest control from the hands of Zenith, and bring back all worlds — even the worst ones, with no hope, with only an inevitable end awaiting them once more. Apocalyptic worlds. War-torn worlds. Worlds where their Shard-bearers were dying, or dead. Impossible worlds, worlds they do not miss or yearn for.

Meridian's power has never run so rampant within him, it has never been as powerful as it does now. The wave of it, the heat of it, the conceptualization of power and strife that builds within him is as white-hot and clarifying as the death-knell of the star that brought death to worlds. The embodiment of destructive power sings like a war cry within him, narrowed and honed upon the Zenith with the knowledge that he will not mourn to deny them what they desire. He will revel in their despair, he thinks. He will trample upon their dream, crush their opposition and only in the end, only in the quiet of his world with his child in his arms, will he utter their names as a litany. ]

I could warn you. 'You may live in the reality you choose to need, but actively oppose me and I will strike you down'. [ You know. ] I do not think I need to, though. It will not matter, I know your heart. If there is a way, when I attain victory, to shatter your Empire with my own hands — know I will, Cassian. For all you lost, and for the heart you had to let die.

[ Do not let it get this bad again, and it will not.

There is only one thing, now, that will turn him to Zenith. And if he goes, it will be permanent and devastating. ]

I will keep my promise. Fix your eyes on me and watch.

[diversionist]

[ cassian looks at him, unflinchingly.

not for the first time lately, he looks upon divinity and considers it akin to looking into the sun. the building fire is nearly blinding, ruthless and merciless and powerful beyond comprehension. it should cow him, to look at set and feel this conviction and hear i will strike you down, but it doesn't. he's spent his entire life standing in opposition to impossibly huge, powerful structures — what's another? and set is not like the empire, or even the republic before it. his enemy, but not his enemy. someone he likes and cares about and is glad they've met and accepts him. it's not the same thing.

so he shakes his head slightly: no, he doesn't need the warning. no, it doesn't matter. set does know his heart. and if there are situations like this one again, like the beyond, where working together is necessary — he suspects then, as before, they'll be able to work in harmony once again. it isn't a complete loss.

it isn't a complete loss, because if there is a way, when i attain victory, to shatter your empire with my own hands — know i will. that is all that he wants; that's the only thing that's left to him to want. if these factions can be trusted at all, and that's in doubt, then at least there's a way to tear down the empire whichever succeeds. it has to mean something, everything he's lost and everything he's done. and if set can, does, keep this promise as well as the one to his son — cassian would be at peace, dying for that. there are worse deaths.

(a pinch of regret, easily missed, something new and soft — there needs to be a way for jyn to live, in the end, if that's what she wants. he doesn't care about his life; but then again, she's always been a survivor, skeptical of causes. hard to imagine her putting herself directly in opposition to meridian.) ]

I won't look away. [ a tilt to his head. so, in turn, ] Don't let me down.

[ because he chose this — he came upon set being pulled under by zenith, and he did not let it come to pass. because he chose this — to fight, once again, for the sake of this galaxy. because he chose this — to trust set in this promise to end the empire. to see it destroyed, whichever of their convictions wins kenos. the relief it gives him is nearly as strong as that which he breathes in from zenith's calm. but only nearly. ]

[redsoil]

[ With a brisk swipe of his hand, he drags his fingers through the blood-sap upon his chest, upon his Shard, and looks upon it as it stains his palm. Fingers. It is not an unfamiliar sight, as commonplace as someone might think it ought to be to a god of war and violence. Cassian Andor bled for him. Saved him. He did not have to, but it was the choice he made. For himself, for the women that had come to Set before him; the stern-eyed woman who he had seen as a spiteful little thing, but took his pain-seeking hands in her own with all the patience of a childhood friend. ( A little, just a little, the two of them simmer within him as if he has known them forever — Cassian, Jyn — and has he not? Has he not been the war that had defined them, pushed them, injured them. ) ]

Ask them what their new, perfect world looks like, Cassian. Ask them what it will take to attain that perfection. And when they answer, [ his jaw shifts, because Cassian has saved him.

Cassian needs Zenith.

And Set is still an avatar. One who removes the first stone, that supports a straining dam. Who asks the difficult question, impertinent and cruel. Whatever the answer, at least the question was asked. At least the knowledge comes to fruition, instead of dying on the vine. Slowly, he shifts his posture and leans in. Leans himself along Cassian's shoulder and tucks his head tiredly against the man's shoulder, even as he whispers the words. Even as he accepts his choice, and takes this momentary solace in his presence. ]

When they answer, I hope you think of the Empire.