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

[epiprocta]

[ There he is, the slimy son of a bitch he remembers.

Although -- something feels off. Not enough that he stops, or even pauses in the approach he's taking. But enough that there's a wary little prickle at the back of his mind, nudging him to stay on guard. His reflexes and gut instincts have always been sharper than his conscious thoughts, and Gen subconsciously ends up taking note of that tiny shiver of unease, even as he reels back his fist for a punch.

It's the only reason he reacts quickly enough when Makoto lunges in for that headbutt. Not enough to dodge the blow entirely -- but enough that he automatically jerks back to lessen the force of the blow, just enough that it only disorients him instead of taking him out entirely. Gen does end up stumbling back heavily with a grunt when he feels that dull impact slam into the bridge of his nose, sending bursts of light flickering across his field of vision and making his thoughts spin for a moment, but the vicious grip he has on Makoto's shirtfront doesn't relent at all.

On the contrary, it only grips tighter once Gen realizes what's happened; even before his vision's stopped flickering, he yanks hard to close the distance between them, looming directly over Makoto as he hisses, ]

The hell are you even talking about, you little shit? S'that any way to treat an old friend?

[ Blood drips from his nose, off his upper lip as he spits out those acrid words. The familiar taste of copper plays on his tongue. And while it's not like he makes a conscious decision that he wants Makoto as his ally -- far from it -- he does make the decision somewhere in his gut

he wants a hand in deciding Makoto's fate. Because he can imagine nothing else he'd want less from someone he hated. ]

You should be showing your gratitude to me for pointing you in the right direction, you rat.

[ His words pitch lower as he says that, a glimmer of something more deliberate and cruel reaching his gaze this time. That reckless, aimless, venting frustration of his gives way to a more insidious pressure as he starts to bear down on Makoto with all of the energy that Zenith permits him to muster. ]

[affal]

( it's not the same horrible, painful satisfaction of the fused plates of two skulls colliding with one another in violence, but there's still something glad in him that kindles to life through the multiple inputs of pain that he's weathering when he forces his eyes open and manages to get them to focus on the red streak of blood that now drips from his adversary's nose. despite it all, makoto's expression twists into a horrible little smile, too-sharp teeth bared in animal aggression. he knows it's precious little, but even to defend his dwindled dignity just this much has meaning and importance to him — even if he knows with certainty that sinks down to the marrow of his bones that he will pay for it multiple times over. it's the fucking principle of the thing. the version of him that had come to horos straight from Hell likely wouldn't have made the decision he just did, so gen is correct in sensing that this isn't purely déjà vu; that version of makoto had been taught against resorting too swiftly to violence, though all that he had been put through on horos had taught him that there were exceptions to that directive.

makoto still believes in the inherent power in words and machinations, but action is a language in and of itself, and hurting someone else can sometimes be the most efficient and direct path to making yourself known and understood.

despite his fleeting moment of rebellion, gen's control over him does not falter. still holding him by the front of his shirt, he looms over him to the point where he fills most of his vision — hot droplets of blood fall onto makoto's face as his aggressor speaks, and finally he replies with what he feels should have been obvious, ) It means I don't remember who the hell you are, you —

( he's cut off by two things: gen continuing, and the slow and impending sense of something invisible and inexplicable beginning to press in at the edges of his consciousness, not through the turbulent ocean of Communion that rages in these darkened tunnels but to his very shard itself. before, makoto has displayed shock, pain, anger — now he lapses into a blind panic. Zenith has progressively been getting more and more difficult for him to weather; Meridian is toothless in comparison, as he has few good and warm thoughts and memories to make him yearn for home, but all that Zenith brought to bear on him? the worst of what he had experienced on Earth, in Hell, and even half-remembered sensory static of what he had been put through in horos begin to seep through around the edges of his consciousness, putting him in a state of existential fight-or-flight. he has nowhere to go, so he resorts to the option he would rather take regardless: each breath is a battle to coax in and out of his lungs, half-gasped and half-choked and shuddering, and yet he forces his arms up, hands uselessly clawing at gen's arms, balling into fists to beat against his chest, all as the rest of him thrashes in a desperate bid for freedom that is sadly and shamefully pathetic, given how the pain of his injuries and the turmoil of his mental state compromise his ability to make a truly concerted effort.

worlds half-form in the pained bellows of his breathing, though they are hard to capture, several times resolving into, "stop," once something along the lines of, "anything, I'll do any— just—", and perhaps even the syllables of the name, "minegishi," though it would be a question of whether or not it still meant something to him after all of this is over.

in order to successfully fight off this external assault of corruption, makoto would have to do just that: muster the mental and emotional strength to fight him off. but, despite the ordeal of these last few days, gen has the small and new clarity which Harmonization grants to those that achieve it, and makoto has been doing nothing more but tread water for the last few days. his is a tiny ship that has weathered the tides of both Meridian and Zenith, largely keeping afloat out of determined spite rather than any hope that he might sight shore. but now, these metaphorical waters churn, the threat more and more real that he might fully capsize and sink to their depths. he doesn't want to — or perhaps, he does? because then it would all be over, right? he would finally be able to rest?

he doesn't break. not yet. he still fights, and he does so doggedly, but there's a definite sense that he can't do so forever. he might just need a final nail in the coffin. )

[epiprocta]

[ 'I don't remember who the hell you are,' Makoto says. If Gen hadn't already decided to leave his mark on Makoto, those words would have pushed him over the edge. But said now, when Gen's already started digging his claws in, they only spur him to knuckle down harder -- to make sure that what happens next is by his will, not Makoto's. His eyes flash bright with vicious loathing for a moment before that light vanishes, replaced by cruel determination.

(It's not even that he particularly wants Makoto to know his identity. But those words remind him too much of pale, wide eyes and a gormless stare, of an old scar buried under soft hair, of Reiji saying, 'this has nothing to do with you.' He's sick and tired of feeling like a ghost in his own life.) ]

Ah, that's right. [ His words are a languid drawl. ] Guess there's no reason you should have to remember me when you're so used to being treated like this, huh?

[ The swiftness of his movements is in sharp contrast to the dragging pace of his words. Gen shifts his grip on Makoto's clothes at the same instant that he lashes out with a hooking kick, slamming the heel of his boot into the side of Makoto's knee; a simultaneous yank at his clothes should topple him to the ground. Not that he'll get any room to scramble away or defend himself -- Gen aims to smother him with violence, lunging in before Makoto can react, aiming a hard stomp at Makoto's midriff to punctuate his words. ]

You slimy little rats are always too busy feeling sorry for yourselves when you're on the back foot, after all. [ Another stomp, though this one's aimed poorly, scuffing off Makoto's back at best. Gen's own agitation is working against him. Though -- his stiff movements are made up for escalating mental pressure as Gen continues to bear down on Makoto mentally. 'Bend,' he wills. 'Break.' ] Can't do anything unless it's all backstabbing and pretty words. Crawling around in the shadows like bugs, just waiting to bite people when they aren't looking.

[ Dirt grits underfoot when he heavily thumps down to kneel over Makoto, grabbing at his shirtfront once more. Regardless of how hard Makoto might claw or fight, he barely registers the retaliation, numb to any injuries -- he's too accustomed to valuing hatred and anger over pain. His grasp is vicious when he tangles his fingers through Makoto's hair and yanks. Forcing eye contact as he leans in to hiss, ]

The hell're you doing thinking you get to hesitate over which side you're going to? I know your type. There's nowhere else you could have gone.

[ 'You belong with me, in the dirt.' ]

sorry it got so long...

[affal]

( makoto's memories of horos are not gone. he is not suddenly reverted back to the individual he had been when he had first appeared there in the shrine of the firebrand, who had been taken with all of the others to the throne room where they had undergone the same painful ritual which had resulted in either their attunement to pleroma or kenoma. in order to permit his body and soul to continue forward in kenos, these recollected experiences had instead layered over with a sort of haphazard emotional patina — there are certain places where his memories are relatively clear, but in others they are so thickly covered in the mental equivalent of scar tissue that it's near-impossible to tell what is beneath. gen is scattered throughout these; he features in many memories that would likely never return to him, as they would threaten to compromise his emotional integrity too greatly. but others... they are closer to him. and with each passing moment of physical and mental turmoil that gen puts him through, they are made closer and closer — these each individual attacks chipping away at the protective layer he had plastered over them, each progressively making the overall picture more and more clear.

ironically, it is the physical pain that reconnects these neural pathways far more swiftly or accurately than any positive encouragement (or merely the passage of time) might have. call this a learned instinctual behavior having been adapted relatively quickly in Hell, where the quickest way to learn any lesson had been to convince the mind it would allow it to avoid pain in the future.

so even if he had the wherewithal, could he even argue with gen? as much as he would argue that the circuitous speech of silver-tongued demons at court was his primary method of approaching any situation, he couldn't deny that the brutal language of violence that gen leverages against him now is one that cuts to his quick, bypassing all else to strike through to the heart of him.

it's hard to focus on gen's verbal taunts with how much of his attention is dedicated to preventing himself from buckling mentally under the pressure of the Zenith energy that gen direct his way now — this having been said, his sudden release and the violent kick at his knee split this neatly, compromising both. he gasps out a sharp cry of anguish, and the knee gives way almost immediately; linear progression of events breaks down in the confusion directly following after, but as he regains cognizance he's on the ground — his chest burns and aches with an impact he hadn't even been completely aware he received, and he instinctually curls inwards on it and rolls over onto his side, taking the second blow as a sideswipe to his back. there's nothing he can do — he knows now that he's been in this position in every iteration his life has taken, and on the one directly prior to this one, when they had both been on horos, it had been gen himself who had perpetrated it. then, as now, he knew there is nothing to do but weather it to its end — to try to become uninteresting in the hopes he would lose interest in his cruelty.

unlikely.

by the time gen kneels down next to him, he doesn't have the energy to resist being taken by the collar again; his hands lift to grasp weakly at gen's arms, but it's all he can manage. rough, callous fingers tangle into his hair, and the needle-sharp pain having his head wrenched back is so familiar — so much so that it not only elicits the physical pain that burns in his scalp and aches in the crane of his neck and threatens to tear in the stitching around his neck, but it also causes a psychic twinge to reverberate throughout his very shard. it ripples through the rest of his body as a violent, nonverbal shudder. a piece of him he had tried to bury has returned to him, and the shock of that moment was all the energies of Zenith needed to fully permeate into the damaged recesses of his shard, chasing what little of the Meridian remained within.

the eye contact that gen had forced previously had been unfocused, bleary through a thin sheen of tears, but after this — after causing them to violently roll back into his head before falling closed as a wave of sudden internal peace rushes through him at the forced acceptance of Zenith — they open again to see him. truly see him. now there is a glint of recognition, of knowing, where there hadn't been previously; he is exhausted, restrained, and playing host to excruciating pain that takes up familiar roost within his body, and despite all of this he smiles at his tormenter. )

Minegishi-kun, ( his voice sounds like it's gone through a few too many cycles in the washing machine, but still it purrs with the type of familiarity that only marrow-deep hatred can engender. shared empathy of Communion even more profound than what they had been equipped with previously settles over them like a layer of newly-fallen snow; he accepts it because he can sense it comes from gen as well, vicious and disgusted. that... it's comforting. it's something he can grasp, something he can understand. his right hand raises unsteadily to the side of his face, drawing a slow path down the column of his neck toward his collarbone. he manages a few pained laughs, even if the effort makes his whole chest burn; new tears prick in the corners of his eyes at it. ) If you wanted me by your side in Zenith, just as we were before... you could have just said so.

( he laughs again, the sound oddly wet in his lungs. )

[epiprocta]

[ He'd die before admitting it, but he does feel shiver of something cold down his spine when Makoto gains that new light in his eyes. Because for all his bluster, all of the changes he's been through, all the experiences he's been forced to live in these strange worlds, Gen has never forgotten that he was only human to start with. A puny, weak, normal human being thrown in amongst superhuman beings and gods ...

and demons.

Beings that he never should have provoked.

That revelation has him frozen for a moment, his next breath coming hoarser past the tightness in his throat; though Gen's expression remains firmly fixed in that look of condescension, the fine hairs on his ears and the back of his neck are standing on end. It's only when he feels the drag of fingers against the high neck of his shirt, drifting just a little too close to where his shard lies, that he snaps back to his senses and jerks his head away from that touch. ]

... what, were you just faking it? Pretending not to recognize me in hopes I'd let you go? [ Even as he says it, he knows it's not true. That little display -- the shudder, the roll of the eyes, and immediate new clarity in Makoto's gaze -- had all been a bit too convincing to be an act. But bluster like this is just second nature to him, so he continues to lie: ] Like that bullshit would have any effect on me.

[ It's mostly just to surreptitiously yank that touch away from his throat when he shifts his grip on Makoto's hair and slams his head back into the ground; his other hand snatches Makoto's wrist to pin it to the ground. And in that position, Gen leans directly over Makoto as he drones, ]

But sure. I'll let you think what you want.

[ After all -- even if the wording is wrong, even if the very thought that he'd want to be around this slimy fuck makes him laugh, he won't deny the belief that Makoto belongs with him. With Zenith. Just like him, Makoto doesn't deserve to even dream of standing alongside those people he's left behind with Meridian.

Let them be wretches together. ]

[affal]

( would this horrible, heavy, and constricting interpersonal entanglement between them even be a quarter of what it is if that hadn't been the case — if it hadn't been so easy for gen to peer through whatever obfuscation or illusion he might have attempted to try to distract from the fact that his origins are almost insultingly banal. had he even bothered to try and keep it a secret from him for very long? maybe not... it's hazy to try to recall, but he thinks it wouldn't have been so strange for him to give in to admitting to how they might have been peers in another time, another world, another universe — albeit one where their relationship likely still resembled something like this. where, when might made right, gen would always play the bully pitilessly crushing makoto under his heel.

he hates it, of course. he hates him with a readiness and a certainty that is almost liberating. with J, it had always been tangled up in doubt and betrayal, a hurt which emanated from the wound of a promise he felt as though he had been given and then broken in the worst possible way. gen is so direct and so focused with regards to their polar opposition that it almost makes the violence worth stomaching (actually, no, never, but it's an interesting concept, isn't it?) — he at least has the safety and assuredness of knowing there is nothing which lies beneath it. all that he has to fear from the other young man is what he can bring to bear against him.

if he were limited to only speaking this harsh and brutal language which gen uses with him, his options would be slim to none. but that's the trick to someone like makoto, demon or not; perhaps it's a premonition of it that gives gen just the faintest pause now, just an ounce of dread which creeps down his spine like the slow tread of a meandering spider.

there are far more options open to him to plunging gen into misery. he is merely being patient in finding the best and most satisfying one; here and now, he remembers this with certainty.

he huffs a faint, pained laugh, though it ends up into a small series of wheezing coughs. )

What can I say...? You're uniquely persuading.

( he had reached out to gen to provoke him, to incite him, and he is thus able to trick his brain into interpreting the pull away leading directly into his head and arm being pinned painfully to the dirt as some sort of success. but it's still not enough to distract from the horrible symphony that the pain of his various injuries makes; his arms and chest ache, bruised if not broken, and as he's pinned now, the sharp twinges from his neck and wrist are enough to pierce through all else. and he's so tired; the exhaustion from having Zenith flood his shard to the point of its forced acceptance is so deep and pervasive he feels as though doing anything in response to any of this to be a task as insurmountable as climbing a mountain.

so instead he focuses on what is immediate, right before him, with what tiny and feeble strength he has left. he breathes out an oddly-pitched sigh, after a moment speaking in a voice scarcely above a whisper, ) If we must be here in this place together, let us damn one another. ( they seem so specially equipped for it, interlocking in the worst possible ways. makoto forces a grim smile, a harsh slash of the mouth with teeth bared. ) Do your worst while you can, Minegishi. When I force you to repay it, I'll do so with interest.