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

[sterngaze]

[Perhaps Liem has begun to anticipate Set a little better, or perhaps the warmth still lingering on the skin of his brow has shaken loose his inhibitions, because when the god slides an arm around him to pull Liem against his side, not even a peep of surprise escapes him. He allows himself to be urged down onto the floor of the chapel, to sit there in intimate conversation like boyhood companions: one blood-red god and one pale, wilted priest.

Their aspects are far removed from one another; the comfort of their companionable intimacy can only provide a temporary balm against the incessant simmer of Liem's discord. But in the moment, the closeness serves to quiet the restlessness that has been gnawing at him for weeks now. That alone is a service, and one he appreciates as he sits next to Set on the floor of that sweltering church.

He had thought it strange, at first, that Set would come to him and insist on offering his support, his companionship. Was there not enough to keep even one such as him busy in this world at the end of worlds? But, cut off from his land as the god is — as they all are — perhaps the weight of his solitude drives him to seek others in this way.]

I don't quite know. That is not a question I have often been asked, nor contemplated the answer to.

[He is used to having colleagues, allies, to work alongside. But he has often found that the best way to preserve his working relationships is to keep them from becoming too close.]

It is the feeling of being watched, more than anything. I must often rely on the shade in the streets, because of the waning of my magic here, and my sensitivity to the sun. And, as you can see, [— he lifts one edge of his cloak, holding the fabric aloft to block the light filtering through the screen of vines; but of course, the dappled light thrown over the floor remains unimpeded —] I have no shade of my own. So I must return to the shadows, and that unsettling feeling. I feel stalked.

[redsoil]

If I ask this question more often, will you come to contemplate the answer in the same way?

[ Despite his demands, Set has no true idea how to be a friend to anyone. His best friend through his long, long life had been his own sister — Isis, whom had been quick of temper and just as apt to throw things at him and pull his hair when he acted in a way she thought of as foolish or counterintuitive. They had been faithful companions, though. Her wisdom had always been derived from eyes that saw further than his, and a heart that enveloped humanity with the overbearingly pure strength of a mother.

( It is not Nut that Set sees in Yima, in the end. It is Isis, instead. )

He curls his knees against Liem's hip, folding in towards him with the blind, carelessness of someone who knows of his body as a tool — not a thing capable of comfort, of holding others gently. He cannot hold anyone well, without it becoming heady or straying towards parental. So, instead, he curves himself around Liem's side and tucks in, pushing his nose into the priest's hair with a soft, telling sniff. His sensitive dognose, drawing in familiar scents with which he tends to locate and identify others. ]

You already had a difficult time under Springstar's suns, I cannot imagine how it feels now to be looked upon by such a deathly light. Too often, I hear Meridian thought of as 'the hope' or 'the good'. I have never thought of Meridian's light as a warm, kind thing — Ra, god of the sun, is a capricious and violent woman, after all. She is the true face of the light. Savage, ravenous, a thing you must survive.

[ He wiggles his hand closer, knitting it around Liem's wrist. They are of no help to one another as Shard-Bearers, but must that be all they are to one another? ]

What stalks you, Liem? If you were to turn and face that feeling, what would you find?

[sterngaze]

[How relentless Set is, even in his desire to be of aid. He continually refuses to accept Liem's non-answers and deflections, brushing past them to seek the wounds the priest harbours, like a hound following the smell of blood. Liem leans into him with a frown, baffled again by his persistence.

He shouldn't be, he knows. Why should this god be distracted from his questions by Liem's lukewarm denials? It is just that he has almost never known anyone so determined to be of help to him, even when given every opportunity to turn aside.

He is warm, and he still smells pleasing, even in the midst of this apocalypse. Liem lets that be a comfort to him, despite the jitters still crawling beneath his skin. But he does not lean his face against the crook of Set's neck, as he might wish to. He does not tangle his legs with the god's and insinuate himself into something more resembling an embrace. Although there is no limit to the longing for intimacy that gnaws him like starvation, his dignity and his paranoia both demand that he not indulge it.

He is tempted again to say I don't know. He doesn't know what he would find if he looked his fears in the face instead of letting them drive him back out into the sun. But this time, instead of giving this answer, Liem considers it further, in silence.]

The spectre of my father, I suppose, [he says finally.] He wanted to make me his. Wanted me to be — if not like him, then at least… devoted to him, instead of to Taldor's living people.

[Iago Talbott had been nowhere in Liem's life when he was a boy, the ward of first his uncle and then of Abadar's church. But as a man of several decades, Liem had found himself the recipient of his father's attention — and a love that he wanted no part of. A love that had made him feel watched, much as the shadows of this terrible place have.]

It made me nervous to be seen with others. To be known by them, when he might learn of it. But also nervous that he might appear, and I might be alone with him.

[redsoil]

[ Though Liem does not seek him, as if they are two well-fitted puzzle pieces, Set yields nothing to the space between them. He is the one who curls into Liem's stiff posture, who drapes himself across the other man's space like liquid. Who finds the shape of Liem's hand, and molds his own to it. Light, seeking to press flickering pacification upon his Discord, even though they are useless to one another. He can press it down for the moment, to give Liem the room to breathe and think.

Especially, because.

Because.

( Perhaps Liem will feel the way Set's body jolts against him, because they are so close. Unfortunately close, all of a sudden, as muscle bunches and flinches and Set's expression oh-so-briefly becomes pale, distant. Haunted, hovering in the corner of Liem's vision, before he dips it and hides himself behind that vast curtain of red.

He wanted to make me his.

If he was not in the presence of another, and forcing resistance into every inch of himself, he would go to retch in the corner of the Church. ) His hand tightens, reflexive, around Liem's. ]

That is terrible. [ A fate worse than death, to him. ] Liem, that is a terrible experience. To not be able to befriend anyone, to be among others — for fear that he would then know where to strike? What a lonely life.

[ It is one he knows, too. Osiris hated anyone who drew close to Set. Who could have drawn his eye or attention, and he had slaughtered a man for the 'crime' of seeing Set's face. Of laying eyes upon him, even by accident. He knows it. He's also certain he is incapable of hiding that from Liem, in this moment. So, he resigns himself to saying it. ]

— I am sorry, that he haunts you even here. The reach of someone like that is infinite, I fear. Your heart carries him, and will until you are able to kill his specter entirely.

[sterngaze]

[For someone who has always struggled to build an identity of his own, from his days in the care of his uncle to his time as an acolyte and again to the years he'd spent roaming Taldor's roads and villages, the weight that Liem's father imposed upon his life was almost a familiar one. It was one more set of rules to follow, one more array of dangers to be mindful of and limitations to fit within. He is not like Set, made immutably for discord and trickery and violence; Liem is mortal, changeable, and in the hundred and more years that he has lived, he has meekly fit whatever shape was required of him to continue existing.

So it is that for Liem, the idea of being tamed, of being claimed, is one he regards with dread — not because it is anathema to him, but because of the terror that one day, for all his loathing and his denial, he will find that nothing in the world could be so natural or so inescapable.

He feels the violent tremor of Set's body against his, when he speaks. Notes — cannot help but note — the way the fall of his hair suddenly hides his face. And, though he had not been able to seek the shape of the other man's body against his, his other hand finds their joined ones to cover Set's. Clinging, to this man who understands without explanation the shape his fears take.]

It is lonely, [he agrees. Not that he wasn't lonely before, but… he had, eventually, found a sort of contentment in what fleeting connections he allowed himself, when he was not working. To have even that shattered, to be thrown back to the days of his youth because of his fear… that had been hard.]

He will be there, again, if I go back home. But even here… I don't know if I could be rid of him. Even before I ever met my father, I could not help but fear that I might be like him. He has always haunted me.

[It is strange to admit this so plainly. He has rarely spoken of Iago to anyone, even in a passing mention. But Set is already intimately familiar with his nature, his cravings and his self-revulsion. And more than that, Set is also, somehow, despite his divinity…]

That spectre is, I think, part of what makes accepting aid so difficult. Accepting it; expecting it. I am well used to being of service, but being cared for — that is hard.

[redsoil]

[ Though he had pledged himself to the path of atonement, it was not a path easily walked. For every step forward, he feels the path has become ten steps longer. His gait is either too slow, or he stills entirely, or he strays completely. Sometimes, he shuns it entirely through drink and drug, to numb down the incessant, gnawing thing within him that sounds like scarabs in the walls, poison in the water, fingernails upon an altar — humanity, in a god that ought to be kept separate from such a thing.

He can understand Liem. It is the worst thing imaginable, to him. And yet, he resolves himself to continue to understand, though he must push aside his own memories and the haunting specter of his own in order to do that. Lest he reveal himself, ungainly and shameful, to someone he wishes to be strong for.

Set curls his hands a little tighter into Liem's, and he laces a thumb over the back of the one that covers their connection. Atop, once more. ]

Then, we must make you stronger. Here, [ he shifts one hand free, to press his fingers to Liem's brow, ] and here, [ to his chest, over the space where his heart must lie. ] Perhaps, coming to this world was not all bad. The things you would have faced alone, in a world where you only had so much you could do, only so many paths available — among us, from all these other places and experiences, you may find something that was invisible before. Something that may not rid you of him, or of the fear, but will always make a victor of you.

[ Being cared for, is hard. yeah it fucking is liem

Softly, Set leans his head down. Dipping it, as he raises the clasp of their hands and presses his mouth, slow and long, to the gathering of flesh and muscle between Liem's thumb and forefinger. ]

[sterngaze]

[For Liem, for whom accepting care is difficult and asking for it is almost impossible, the unapologetic way that Set presses his aid upon him is both a threat and a relief. Something about receiving care from anyone instils in Liem a sense of ticking time, a keen anxiety that obsesses over the inevitable moment when that care will disappear. He would rather deflect offers of assistance than come to rely on them too heavily, especially if his faults might be what ultimately push that person away.

But in this moment, he is so terribly grateful for the curl of Set's body against him and the grip of his hands on Liem's cool ones. He feels as weathered and dried up as this abandoned city, so desperate for contact that even Set's presence simply resting beside him threatens to make him giddy. His warm solidity is pathetically comforting.]

You have such a way of looking at the world, Set.

[To see their fight for the Oracles as an opportunity, rather than just a trial. To hear Liem's struggle and say with such confidence what they must do to address it. Much of the time, when Liem says anything with confidence, it is a false mask constructed to disguise his uncertainty, to make him seem like someone strong, someone worth placing trust in.

He feels a little assailed by the gentle contact of Set's mouth against his hand. His breath sticks, for a moment, in his throat. What is he meant to do with such a gesture? How is he supposed to keep setting these little moments aside where they won't unstitch him, when Set is so pitiless in wielding them like this?]

I hope you find something, too. Whatever it is that you need.

[redsoil]

Naturally.

[ For he is innately different than mortals, even long lived ones. He was born-made to embody the natural world, not to live in it, and the way he sees matters is with different eyes, and a mind unfathomably alien at times. Yet, if Liem can find rest in the company of that sort of thing, all the better. Perhaps in this, they are made well for one another. Two puzzle pieces, slotting together — not quite a perfect fit, but able to match up well enough. ( Nevermind their useless Aspects. ) ]

I am part of undeniable reality, after all. I exist because our worlds existed, and continue to do so because they will again. My presence here is a promise, to Meridian. To you. Even so, I will not squander the time I have with you, in the meanwhile.

[ He holds Liem's hand to his mouth as he speaks the words, unassailably sincere. And slowly, he nestles the man's hand down into his lap to hold it there, to stroke his thumb over Liem's knuckles and soothe him if possible. To be there, immovable and threatening because of it.

He says: ] I found you.