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

[eyesite]

No. No. You do not get to chastise me like that after forcing me to play audience to your fucking temper tantrum.

( set means what he says, and john does as well; their wills are eager, violent blades that clash between them, seething in their shared consciousness. he doesn't care what set chooses to believe. he can sink himself into the crushing depths of delusion, for all he cares, but john has always been a man who has tirelessly pursued proof, fact, and truth, and he simply cannot deny the information that the senses that the Eye has given him deliver. his feelings about the Fear might be entangled into a complicated mess, inscrutable and ambivalent, but there is one thing he knows for certain: it is not the Eye's domain to deal in falsehood. no, that's another one of its faces, because the Ceaseless Watcher has always been emblematic of the horror of the dreadful truth, of that which one would keep secret at all costs becoming known.

it, and by extension its Archivist, were perfectly-matched to deconstruct the complex array of mendacity and misdirection that rudbeckia kept aligned in space around her at all times. perhaps a part of her had known that, just as a part of him had known it, sensing how brightly and vividly her fear burned in the dry dark of these tunnels — a star going supernova as the others around it burned out, dim and distant. )

Has she ever been given the chance to know? How many opportunities to choose have you given her? ( he challenges; there's something bright and furious and self-justified burning in the depths of his dark eyes, and it has nothing to do with what is eldritch and alien, mixed into the substance of his shard. in this moment, he feels remarkably, vividly, ironically human. set can try to paint him as a manipulator, a villain who had ensorcelled her to his will, but it couldn't have been further from the truth — he had done what he'd done because he had been desperate to, just once, just one fucking time, help someone. for years he's tried, and for years he's failed, powerless to help those that come to see him in their fear and agony, inert in being able to save his assistants from death and worse, fooled into believing himself a savior and protector of humanity when he had been hand-crafted into the exact opposite.

he didn't want the only person he'd ever come through for to be gerry keay, as he'd forced himself to burn his page and free the facsimile of his soul from the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead.

his instinct is to force set to understand the truth of what happened; he itches to access an ability that he only half-comprehends by this point that the Eye has shared with him, to peel apart the discrete defenses of set's mind and splice in his own recollection of the encounter so he couldn't throw into his face the lies that he had forced the young woman's hand. instead he can only be equipped with his words and ineffectual anger. )

Is that what this is all about? That you feel like I've - I've — taken something that belongs to you, and now you're, what, jealous? ( his tone of voice chokes with disbelief and outrage. ) Listen to me, Set, because I have no reason to lie to you. I've been able to sense the fear pouring off of her for basically as long as we've been trapped down here — I, I needed to know, and when I approached her, I found that her fears are rooted in Meridian. In the fate she fears it may one day force her into, and the retaliation she fears it will level against her when they discover that her faith in its goal isn't real!

( the strength of conviction john has in himself and in his words is a dull and omnipresent pressure in the Communion around them, bared as brazenly as naked steel might be in the precipitating moment before lethal violence. )

I offered her an alternative. I offered her a choice. I want to see if Zenith might allow her fear to alleviate, because it's - it's overwhelming — I... ( the wind is falling out of his sails, causing his thoughts to unravel faster than he can spool them, but he doesn't fall silent without one last admission: ) If I cared more for the fear within her than for her, I would have left her to return to Meridian. But I - I'm trying. I'm trying to help her. And if you refuse to even see that — then I have nothing left to say to you.

[redsoil]

Every chance, Jonathan Sims. Under my promise of protection, and my delivery of places she can hide and rest her heart.

[ He bludgeons the Archivist with it. Set's will is a fragile thing, and he feeds upon the convictions of others, but when it comes to particular individuals — the ones he has taken upon himself to do something for, he is unassailable. There is a sense, that without a doubt, it is pure, rotten fact that he has always given Ruby a choice. He has always asked her what she has desired to do, and offered her many avenues to walk — ( no one would think I'm a monster, at least, she had said to him; and he, in turn, had told her he would hide her ability and utility, her identity from whomever might want to use her, or kill her to remove her from use ).

And he hands John one more thing.

Amos Burton's name. And Ruby's response: ... I think I'm more afraid of him than anyone else in Zenith. / I begged everyone to go easy on those of us who weren't fighters. Signor Amos promised to protect me, and I— could feel, through the Communion, that he only meant if I joined Zenith. If I wasn't a Zenite, that was reason enough to kill me. He also slips the description Ruby gave: ... have you met a gentleman with long blue hair and an eyepatch? Because I felt that he was similarly dangerous.... Kaeya Alberich. ]

I have no reason to lie to you either. I would never have made her go back to her world. What I offered her was the opportunity to shelter under me and alleviate her fears, as well. While she was here in Kenos, I wanted her to be able to shed the memory of that place, and to always have the freedom to go where she pleased, in the end. I still do not trust you, who feeds an entity upon Fear and is reliant on that power for your own survival — but, if you truly do mean well by her, I will believe you. Though I do not forgive you. The only choice you were capable of offering to her at this time, was one fed by the power of this Oracle.

There is no freedom here in these caves, where we must abuse and violate one another's will.

[ He sits back a little, and reaches to find John's hand. To draw it into his own, and clasp it between his palms. ]

If she chooses remains in Zenith, I will protect her from my own Faction. Will you do the same, if she chooses returns to Meridian? For that is all I care about. You are responsible, as I am, for a girl who needs not choose a side. She only needs to be made to feel safe, no matter which side she finds rest in. I care very much for her. If there could be one thing we can agree upon... I would not mind it to be our desire to help her.

[ pointed, though, is the impression of his question — will you always want to help her? ]

[eyesite]

( then why did she not mention you?

it's a barb that he longs to hurl in set's face, regardless of what its outcome might be — a petty, childish, and ultimately human instinct to try to cause harm when suffering one's own pain or riding one's own fear. there is not a single thread of set's own conviction here that he feels he can accept. he does not believe in the ultimate goal that Meridian promises to its Harmonized because he feels it is far too broad and idealized, crafted sweet as honey to draw the largest number of flies — without insurmountable proof that what he claims is possible, that all worlds would be restored and that the Shard-Bearers would be offered choice into which one they wished to return, to him it's still a risk. because it had felt like it still was to her. he does not condescend to try to lecture set about the nature of war, so it's in anger he feels like he's being disregarded on his comprehension of the nature of fear — it can often be strongest when the object of that fear is still out there, its location and nature undescribed, because that apprehension of its potential and the dread of the unknown is one of the strongest living creatures can muster. he could personally shelter her as far away from it as possible, but the fear would be a cancer that would grow out of his reach, festering in the knowledge that all that she feared most still existed out there, in her own mind waiting to claim her. a comprehensive lexicon of fear himself, he knows there is no logic to it.

it is only in Zenith, in the complete assurance that all worlds that had existed before had fallen into Oblivion, never to return, that she would find absolution from the burden of that fear.

he shoves away the names, coldly furious at what he sees as incredible hypocrisy. as these latter days of the Oracle's ordeal have worn on, it has (perhaps predictably) been Meridian who have been hunting down and killing those that have Harmonized with Zenith, both those that had been as such initially but especially those that had converted. it seems not only a paltry defense but an irritating one that he would brandish names — names of people that john himself knows — as those that might do her harm in Zenith's name. if she found solace in Zenith, john knows they would protect her furiously; what a ridiculous hypothetical, when Meridian already have copious blood on their hands.

he wants to bring all of these arguments to bear to set. he, too, wishes he could crush him under the weight of them. but he increasingly knows that there's no point. there is no debating a god — by their very nature they write their existences, so how can he expect his heart to change on that which he feels ironclad?

he does have one thing to say, however, because it regards that very nature: ) You would tie her to you in a storm. ( his voice is oddly still; he frowns, dark eyes sharp. ) But you are a storm.

( perhaps not the same one. but one that she would have to continue weathering all the same.

one that he has, as well. and he's already so tired.

ultimately what pains john more than what he perceives as erroneous, unfounded assertions and hypocrisy is what set does last: he robs him of what he perceives as his own personal agency in this. in these caverns, he feels distant to the Eye — not completely separated, as he had been when he had first arrived in kenos, and not completely blind to it, as he had been in the tunnels beneath the Institute, but it gives him more clarity and more certainty in his — his, as jonathan sims the man, not the Archivist, not the avatar of the Eye — thoughts and his decisions. set would tear that all away. reduce him to all that he fears and worries that he might become: a monster that cannot be trusted, motivated and animated by nothing more than the nervous twitches of an entity it cannot entirely understand. that, even here, distant and adrift from it, he would have no personal power in this situation but to be carried by the demands of the Oracle in its absence.

even though its current is enormous, john does what he can to shut himself off to the pressure of Communion. he goes cold, distant, and remote; set sits back and reaches for his hand, but he yanks it away, glaring, and he says only one thing to him. )

Get off of me, Set.

( if there's anything more he has to say about the situation regarding rudbeckia de borgia, he will not do it like this. )

[redsoil]

[ Set finds John intensely hypocritical, as well.

Only in Zenith's name, is she worthy of being protected. Only if Zenith holds her, will she be absolved of her fear. Only if Zenith. Only if Zenith. Well, Zenith is not the only choice that she can make — and to be so deluded in his righteousness, Set thinks of Jonathan Sims with the utmost contempt. The two of them are like oil and water. What Set knows as factual, Jonathan Sims in his mortality will see as fiction. What Jonathan Sims sees as the only path, is merely conjecture and cruelty, to a god once known for his freedoms. The liberties he had taken to visit other worlds, to learn of other peoples and comprehend their differences.

He is a storm. A god is not a human.

In the face of Jonathan Sims's cold, the cessation of the thrum between them and the withdrawal of his hand, he stands. Rising above him as a mountain might, hair falling around his face to obscure all but the vibrant red of his eyes. Narrowed, silent. If he must consign a handful of people with painful memories and dying worlds to their demises to restore all others to their lives, he will. Meridian does not pretend to be a kind path, it is as brutal and wicked as many presume Zenith to be; to him, in many ways, Zenith is the kinder path. It wipes all pain away and seeks to invite all to a better existence, and all can learn to love and accept it. But, he is a cruel and capricious thing — a god, not a human. And he will turn his face away from cries of agony, if he cannot find another way.

He really, really wants to find a different way. ]

As something inhuman, I lack the ability to forge the connection that you can. But, I am trying.

[ Within him is the potential to be humanized. While within John, is the ability to throw off his humanity. ]

I will yield that to you, Jonathan. And nothing else, ever again.

[eyesite]

( no, Zenith is not the only choice she can make, but it's the one she up until this point hasn't been able to. if this is what the narrative needs to be rewritten to in set's eyes (and hers, perhaps) — that he had overwhelmed and compelled her to accept it, though it had been his intention to do neither — then so be it. it is his opinion that she might able to find relief from the terrors that plagued her accepting it into her heart rather than Meridian, but his awareness of the fallibility of humanity means he knows there's no way to know for sure than to see it through. at this point there's no point in arguing about it further. their points are made, and unless set or any of the other Meridian were willing to confirm the poor girl's fears and kill for her supposed transgression, she would do just that: see it through.

the removal of set's weight from his chest elicits a gradual and unsettling ache; even setting apart the already-compromised structural integrity of his rib cage, he had scarcely had any time to try to recover from the dissipation he had already suffered at set's hands before they had been taken out of time to come to this place, to later be held captive within the warren of these tunnels to suffer the Iconoclast's trial. he grimaces in pain, his hand shaking for a moment before moving to rest tenderly over his sternum. his relative separation from the Eye might be a strange freedom in his mind, but it's not around to hold his body together — he hates feeling this fragile, and the fear that accompanies it.

after a long moment, he struggles up from the ground and into a sitting position with a faint sound of pained exertion that catches in the back of his throat; his back bent and shoulders bowed, he rests his elbows and the weight of his upper body on his knees, carefully ushering breath in and out of his lungs. perhaps petulantly, he refuses to look up at set, but he would just really rather not be forced to see himself once again in the situation which had, in their last encounter, ended in his own death.

it seems at first he might not say anything more to him at all, but then, )

Should she regret her choice and wish to return to Meridian, I will do all in my power to ensure that she returns to Springstar safely.

( it's not really much of a guarantee. he finds it annoyingly contradictory, that sometimes it feels as though set treats him as if he possesses some great strength or ability that he patently doesn't have — that he damn well knows he doesn't. all he can do is all that he can offer. )

You aren't the only one who would do anything for those you feel responsible for.

( as tight of a grip as he has over their shared Communion, a vague sense escapes him at this; a wounded sorrow, and something he had left behind in yima's manor, hoping it would be safer there than it would be here with him.

one day they would all be kept there for safekeeping, regardless of whether or not they would hate him for making that decision for them. )

[redsoil]

[ Every inch of his mind warns him — he would fall to this man, if he allowed him purchase. The burning brand upon him means that he owes him something, in the eyes of the Oracle; when really, to Set's mind, he was only evening the scales between them. Having observed the shallow extent of the Eye, of its Avatar, he had thought of Jonathan Sims more in terms of something like himself — otherworldly of thought, elevated of intellect. Nonhuman. And now, he sees his mistake. This man is but a man, a sorrow-stricken and haunted man. Someone seeking to do good in the world, for whatever reason — the most good, for the least number. All that a human could possibly fathom, really.

He does not like it, but John's conviction is solid. ] I can respect your stance, Jonathan Sims. Your heart is in the place you believe is ideologically righteous, both as a Zenite and as a human who sought to help a scared young woman. I will hold you to your word.

[ He will give Jonathan Sims that. It is a choice he would not have thought to encourage Ruby to make, for she would not have been able to wrest herself from his safe haven. ( He had not wanted her to have to, either. He remembers kicking her shoes off in the garden, toeing at her heels until she was barefoot — dangling herself from the sill of a window over a drop that would kill her. Seated with him, draped against his side. He had removed her shoes, so she could run away more easily.

He had to let her flee, even if it meant into the arms of Zenith. ) ]

Maybe not. But, I am the crueler one between us. Zenith is a kindness to so many who do not want to return, or cannot return. But, I am Meridian and am not its silly little hope, I am its wrath. Love who you can. Look to a future you desire. Mourn what you left behind. Know I admire you for your choice, for it is not an easy one. You do not make it lightly.

[ Still.

He will snarl and sneer and bleed Zenith, until it is limping and crawling and wheezing. A kill under his foot. There will be no sorrowful apology from him upon attaining victor. Just apocalyptic rage, and spite. That is the Meridian in Set. ]

You could reconsider. I would allow you, too, to choose another world and moor yourself upon it. Why must you desire this impossible vision, anyways?

[eyesite]

( the mental and emotional scope of mortals — and those that are formerly mortal, in this case — will always be limited by their feeble sensibilities of responsibility and morality. it's why, filtered through him as its active extension, the Eye is not only very limited but also strongly directed by john as its avatar. as much as it would likely love nothing else than to seize a complete hold over him and dictate his actions purely to its own betterment, it can do little more than nudge and restrain; its twin powers of the "carrot" and the "stick" wax and wane with its fleeting attention (as in: with how much he keeps it fed and satiated), but they are the full extent with which it can overlay a more eldritch mindset over john's own. a disappointment, perhaps. when a man is posed with the moral quandary of choosing between thousands of lives or that of a parent, a child, a friend, a lover, they would be naturally predisposed towards choosing what is illogical: the one over the many, regardless of the cost. one might consider it a beautiful flaw, a lovely mutation of social evolution.

from john's perspective, he is making the hard choice — the choice that few people would make — in leaving his world behind to slump into what he hoped was a peaceful Oblivion. though, yes, he would admit that his own prerogative at gathering the shards of those he felt closest to, the most responsible for, was being performed due to his own human weakness.

regarding rudbeckia de borgia, he feels as though he cannot expect any better response from set on the matter. he doesn't comment on it, even though there's something in having what he chooses to do being called "ideologically righteous" when he feels anything but — when he feels more and more that the only way he can correctly identify himself as is "evil" by extension, regardless of how much he personally wishes to be anything but. it had wounded him deeply when set had questioned his nature and his dependability not because he felt it was inaccurate, but because he feared that might end up being the case — especially away from a place like this, where the Eye's influence felt more even distant than normal.

truthfully, he tires of set's presence, but there's nothing more he can do to send him away. he weathers his words in unhappy silence, head bowed. the only thing he can think to be grateful for is that he is not egregiously delusional about either john's ideological convictions or how he feels about them, even if the level of his deific grandeur makes john feel embarrassed after the fact about how grandiloquently he might have gone off about certain things in the past.

he would have been happy to let him speak himself to a point of contentment and then wander off to whatever next would capture his capricious attention.

but he just had to press him.

john goes perfectly still, his jaw setting. indignant anger rekindles in the hearth of his chest, and he tries to keep it down. he wants to say nothing. he wants set to leave him to the heaviness of his own thoughts, now with little more to do than to wait for the Oracle's judgment. but he can't. he pushes him, and perhaps set does it knowingly, and if that's the case john is darkly furious to dance at the end of the strings he pulls upon.

slowly, the Archivist raises his head, dark eyes looking up to the war god through a few strands of hair that have fallen across his face. they seem to have their own gravitational force, hungrily drawing in light and attention and knowledge and all out to their crushing and infinite depths. )

You would allow me?

( something dangerous stirs within the timbre of the Archivist's voice, like the enormous darkened shape of a leviathan stirring in the deep; his eyes might be the source of his power, but his voice is application of it. he might not be able to compel here, but even still, a bizarre sensory distortion seems to creep into his words, warbling on a frequency just beyond the range of what one can feasibly hear, dull in its insistent mental pressure. )

You condescend to me about the quaintness of what I choose to do, only to deign offer me an alternative that would likely only infect another world with the same fate as mine? ( the gloom of the cavern is already pervasive, but now it feels oppressive, roiling with something animate and unknowable. ) Do not insult me, Set.

[redsoil]

[ Of course he does it knowingly.

In some capacity, Set is divorced of his domains. A young god, growing into himself and all that he will be against the underpinning of Kenos's innate need to refuse him the fullness of his power, to contain him so that he does not disrupt the natural balance of the game all things. For Set is the embodiment of chaos, disorder. The confusion that strikes at the heart of things, to disorient and rattle foundations — he may not change them, but inciting people means getting a better look at them. Anger, and what someone grows angry at, is one of the best ways of gleaning who they truly are.

What they do not get angry at, and what they do, is telling.

John grows angry at the thought of being returned to the worlds, because of infection. There it is. A hole, dug into him. ]

No wonder you called me a storm, when you, yourself are a sickness.

[ No judgment, really. He's learning much about John today! ]

Whether you believe your world is truly gone, or that Zenith's victory will truly condemn it — why do you bother persisting? If you are infectious, you will spread among your own. You will stain them with yourself the longer you are around them, until even if they have their hands alone upon the constructs of the new world — you will follow them into it.

[eyesite]

( they mutually commit the same sins but as mirror images of one another — set continuously applies expectations to john that he, still largely shackled by the burdens and limitations of humanity and perceived mortality, can't in his current state even begin to properly embody. likewise, there is something remarkably grounded and human to set that john has difficulty affixing to his mental perception of gods and unknowable entities like them. perhaps it's by these very predispositions that they are cursed to repeat these miscommunications and understandings, unable to truly comprehend the nature of one another and similarly unable to become what the other would need them to be in order to properly do so.

set is not wrong in identifying this fraying thread, this troublesome self-perception that john has regarding who he is, what he is. but he does miss exactly what manner of contagion he sees himself as. he is no patient zero — the only Fear that still manages to perpetuate in a semi-extant state is the Eye, and it might not have even been able to do that if he were not Marked by each of the other thirteen. the other Dread Powers to not breathe and seethe within these Marks as the Eye does within his shard, but they instead lie dormant as withered seeds buried in fallow soil, one day waiting for the conditions to change so they might split, sprout, and grow anew.

he cannot Mark others with the Fears to spread this danger to them. he might be able to awaken their terror of the Eye, as it is still present to drink deeply from that fear, but he cannot either intentionally or accidentally craft from any person here in kenos another "key," like how jonah magnus had made one out of him.

no, he is not the living vector to breathe new disease to those around him. he is instead the corpse rife with dormant rot, ready to spring forth as fresh pestilence whenever the environment around them became just suitable for the occasion.

not knowing what those ideal conditions may be, if they exist at all... he errs on the side of brutal, self-sacrificial caution.

even still, set's words wound him, even if they don't land as accurately as they might have otherwise. john's brow settles over his eyes like a dense layer of stormclouds, and his jaw sets. with great effort he pulls himself up from the ground, seeming even further reduced than normal with a heavily-weighted slump to the line of his shoulders. he thinks for a moment of repudiating what set had said, telling him that, "that's not how it works," but...

isn't it?

even if it wasn't literally: he thinks of the face of sasha that is now permanently lost to him, of tim's grim and incendiary self-destruction, of haunted basira and withered daisy, of melanie's sightless eyes and that horrible, horrible way georgie had looked at him, somewhere caught between pity and disappointment, whenever he had stood before her in the nightmares he'd unknowingly forced her into sharing with him.

of martin —

as usual, he tears the page of thought away from its spine as soon as his thoughts begin to stray too close to him. instead he replies in a low tone, rigid through grit teeth, ) If you're asking that question, then maybe you should ask yourself this one: should you have shattered my shard when you had the chance?

( with that, he has nothing left to say, and he moves to leave. )