Toxic Love: The Exalt Oracle

[beleos]

NOTHING GOES OFF WITHOUT A HITCH

You feel it, the moment that the Exalt oracle opens its eyes, like something that rips through your body from head to toe, something that feel like fire, wild. It sears into your veins, like acid and fire, something that triggers something that makes you want to run, or perhaps turn and face something head on. Before you can find what sets you off – if you could find it. Bearers know what this sensation is, it is different but the same at its core. The emotions, the feelings it sparks are different – but in the end, you know it for what it is: An Oracle.

Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.

As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.

---

When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.

It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.

You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.

Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture the flag Oracle!

SURVIVAL OF THE SMALLEST ( DAYS 1 - 5 )

Unlike the still, stale apocalypse that had been the setting of the Iconoclast Oracle, the greenhouse is lush and vibrant with activity.

The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.

Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.

Naturally curious, and equally dangerous, the fae of the Liosachán are Highstorm natives. They range in cool coloration, from soft violet-greys to deep stormy blues, and wear clothes fashioned from of goods pilfered from the pockets of workers, dropped on the ground or handcrafted from the environment itself. Wielding bits of copper tightly wound into blades and spears, they are a ferocious and cunning little people who seek to trick, trap and toy with Shardbearers. Direct violence is anathema to them, but violence that happens as a result of falling to one of their ploys is a badge of honor.

DAY ONE - THREE. The Effigy initially urges Shardbearers to build bases of operation for defense and practicality, as surviving ten days without supporting one another is a surefire way to meet a grisly, tiny little end. Resources must be gathered: gather food and water, prepare shelter, establish unity and organization and prepare to set off into the wilds soon.

For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.

DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.

The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!

DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.

They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!

UNWILLING TEN-ANTS ( DAYS SIX - EIGHT )

The scuttling, scrabbling feet of ants crawling over surfaces, winding their way through this grassy playground, has become normal. Their feet thunder as they go about their business, and it seems to be a normal cadence to life here in the underbrush, in the greenhouse. It is normal, and it is has become nothing to really concern oneself with. They are ants, after all, what do they do, but work? Endlessly, continuously.

That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.

You are disruptive to their way of life.

The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.

They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.

Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.

It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.

Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!

IN SMALL PACKAGES ( DAYS NINE - TEN )

The day after the ant-pocalypse brings with it the brush of recognition — the Effigy has foreseen the likely victors, and calls to them to approach it once they have suitably recovered. It judges them the ones whom are most devoted to what binds them, loyal to memory and remembrance, and begins to clamor for them to restore to it what belongs rightfully. Thus begins a full day of resting, locating last-minute items, shoring up defenses and preparing for the sprint to the finish line.

Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.

Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.

On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.

A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.

Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.

MISSING LINKS ( THROUGHOUT )

As the Effigy desires to be reunited with what belongs to it, the swell of its longing stirs something more within all present Shardbearers.

With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.

Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.

Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?

NOTES

Here are some prompts to set the scene and foundation of the Exalt Oracle! — The theme of this Oracle is a loose edition of capture the flag, where the Effigy's items can pass through multiple hands within the ten day allotment.

— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.

— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.

CODING

Comments

amos burton | zenith | exalt

[baltimores]

[ closed starters below. plotting comment for reference; cadiai on discord and plurk for contact. ]

cassian —

[baltimores]

[ So, being tiny really, really sucks.

Amos is someone who has spent much of his life ensuring that he isn’t small. Never again. And while this isn’t exactly what he had in mind — didn’t think he would ever have to have in mind, because seriously, what — at least he isn’t alone in it. At least it’s something that should be temporary.

That, and sitting around sullenly doesn’t really do anything. They need to set up camp? Make a shelter for themselves? Alright, he’ll get to work on just that.

… However the fuck this is supposed to work when everything is so much bigger than him.

It’s when he’s out scouting for supplies somewhere — a gigantic pebble lifted precariously over his head, Amos in the process of carrying it back to where Zenith’s camp is just getting set up — that he first spots Cassian, and something he hadn’t thought about before clicks. ]

Hey, [ and, for however much he can get his voice to actually project as Amos slowly starts to make his way over to him — why are pebbles so heavy now. This sucks — ] where’ve you been?

[ You’re helping set up Zenith camp too, right? ]

[diversionist]

[ being tiny does suck.

it'd be harder for cassian to wrap his head around if he were newer to kenos; but after the better part of half a standard year, he sets to work quickly enough with a typical brisk efficiency. amos isn't the only one scouting supplies today — where he carries a big pebble, cassian currently is managing a flower petal, two-handed, on which a dewdrop sparkles. the water slides precariously as he walks, but he's unanxious for his wariness. they won't immediately dehydrate if he does drop this but also, like, they could use the water.

his head comes up when he hears himself hailed. there's the makings of a faint smile on his face as he recognizes amos, before that question is asked. his only visible reaction is a crease between his brows, but that might be enough for the observant. ]

Here? [ he keeps his tone light. ] There's some water by the mushrooms, [ which is true, but not where he got this droplet, ] that I've been collecting.

[baltimores]

[ On second thought, think he'd prefer navigating the heaviness of a pebble to the finesse of not getting drenched by a dewdrop.

(Life is so weird right now.)

Amos hoists his pebble that little bit higher to properly see Cassian's face, and also to set it back down on the ground as carefully as he can, so its massive weight doesn't disrupt anything. Because yeah, he's not going to carry out a conversation while straining to keep it above him. He heaves out a sigh when his arms are free again, stretching them out in front of him now that he's got a reprieve from heavy lifting. ]

Yeah? Hey, that's good. You'll have to show me once I've got enough of these things — [ fucking boulder-pebbles — ] set up to give us a solid base.

[ A beat. He cocks his head, not catching anything amiss, except. ]

You're going the wrong way though.

[ Does he need to lead Cassian back to camp... Not really sure how someone with that good of a head on his shoulders managed to get all twisted around, but would explain why Amos hasn't seen him around as of late. ]

[diversionist]

[ he likes amos.

he likes amos, and so it's a shame about this conversation. he has an idea of how this will go over. he has an idea of how much he could expect amos, who had been part of the reason he chose zenith in the first place, to understand his decision. especially when he can't provide the context, the real reason for his choice. amos isn't the first person he's let down for reasons he couldn't explain; he probably won't be the last. ]

I'm not.

[ going the wrong way, that is. he doesn't make to put down his burden yet, dewdrop precariously balanced in his arms. ]

I'm going the right way, for Meridian.

[ and a part of him thinks: his blaster is missing. and a part of him thinks: he knows how long it would take for him to reach for his knife, if it comes to that. he could buy seconds by throwing the dew in amos's face. enough? maybe. if it comes to that. ]

hayame —

[baltimores]

[ Yeah, shelter and teamwork and all that shit are important so they can survive until the end of this — but also important? Finding what the Effigy wants them to get for it. And for as much as Amos wants to ensure that all Zenites make it through this experience in one piece, he knows that if something were to happen to them, in most cases they can be brought back.

So the Oracle win maybe takes priority here, and he isn’t inclined to waste time on that front.

With their camp decently set up, Amos figures he can go scouting for objects. There’s way too much ground to cover, and that’s frustrating, but maybe if he maps out a grid… somehow… Starts to get an organized look at things… somehow…

Or maybe he can get blindly lucky poking around at anything out of place — and that cup is definitely out of place.

At first he’s thinking that maybe it could be used for shelter in some way. Then he’s wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to move it. But when he actually approaches the cup itself — actually bothers to step inside it, because there’s something else in here—

It’s probably safe to say that for the moment, he’s distracted enough that anyone else could join him and he’d be unaware until they announced themselves — because his eyes are fixed right on that bell towards the back. ]

[warmare]

[In Meridian, there is one who thinks much the same. Though Hayame helps with the initial effort to establish a base camp, knowing there is little use in gaining the Oracle’s accursed objects without a place to defend them or regroup, she leaves the moment a shape is coming together and she feels the rest can be trusted with its completion.

She has hunting to do.

As much as she has always disliked magic, considering it foreign and invasive to her natural state… she forces herself to rely on it. One of Meridian’s spells allows her to… to sense things about her surroundings, and with it’s aid she locates an impression of a polished bell, a cavernous white… thing…

And that is where she goes, galloping across what feels like fields and valleys and mountains but what is actually just the topography of a garden plot in Highstorm. Though she had been robbed of it upon her arrival the first thing the person connected to her bow had done was retrieve it and return it to her, so at least she had her weapons…

Weapons she could bring to bear against the Zenite who arrives at the cup at roughly the same time she does.

… There are many on that side which she would fire upon without hesitation. She was a warrior, and she considered herself as honorable of one as circumstances permitted, but war was war… and there was no fault in surprise or ambush against an enemy. But this one-]

Amos Burton.

[This one she gives the courtesy of the briefest of warnings. Even though she knows it’s futile, and even though she knows there is likely nothing she can say… Hayame calls out to him while sighting down the shaft an arrow aimed at his heart. From this distance, it should punch clean through, no matter how strong he was for a human. She’s calculating already, sure she could loose her arrow without losing much accuracy even if he suddenly exercised his own magic control over weight and space, but first-]

I will be claiming this object. Leave this place at once.

[The last time, in the roots of the tree with Dextera’s throat in his hands… she had been able to intimidate him off. … But this isn’t the roots anymore.

And Meridian’s chances would be much better if Amos Burton were dead.]

[baltimores]

[ He stiffens at the sound of his name, muscles taut and body rigid. Slowly he turns around, eyes flicking up to hers. To the arrow shaft aimed right at him.

His hands flex, lip curled into the beginnings of a snarl. Fuck, does he wish he had a gun on him, but none of them seem to have made the journey with him. There's the dagger Yima gave him at his side, but against a ranged weapon... ]

No.

[ His voice is flat and blunt. No, Hayame won't be claiming this object; no, he won't be leaving this place at once. His hand drifts down, ready to free the dagger from its sheath and do something — throw Hayame's weight off in some way, get her to misfire that arrow before he can charge at her, maybe get her on her back, cut her underbelly, something. Something that'll take her out, leave a shard behind amidst the grass blades that make up a forest—

And then there's a booming sound and suddenly the world is going sideways, and before Amos knows what's happening everything is spinning — the walls around them, the bell, his own body.

He slams into the cup with a force he hasn't felt since the last time he went into space, pinned against its rolling and rolling and rolling walls until he realizes what's going on and turns himself weightless, left to push himself off and away from the walls until it all finally comes to a stop, dazed and baffled as to what the fuck just happened. ]

1/2

[warmare]

[She hadn’t expected any other answer. The lines in the sand were drawn clearly between the two of them, and always (almost always) had been. When there was no Oracle, they ate street meat together and he said they did what friends do, she bought the birthday cake he recommended and she had held his hand and thought that it was warm and strong and shamefully comforting to know someone who had experienced the same things she did about… about how the world worked. But when the Oracles came into play, and there could only be winners and losers, victory or failure on behalf of the factions they chose to serve…

Then it was blades drawn. Enemies who fought to save something and rebuild something. She knew he would refuse. But for the sake of honor, for the sake of… something, she gave him the courtesy of a warning. But the moment he answers in the negative it’s all over. Her fingers relax on the bowstring, prepared to loose her arrow at dead center on his chest when suddenly the ground shakes, there comes a sound…

She can’t let that distract her yet. The arrow flies, shrieking through the air—-]

[warmare]

[And then everything turns upside down. The cup they’d barely entered goes flying, kicked by a wayward foot from an uncaring giant, and the whole world went spinning. Hayame is vaguely aware through a sudden burst of pain of slamming into something, shouting some half something, pinned to the surface by the force at which they travel and unable to even lift hand or head. G-force was hardly within the purview of a medieval breeding stable jinba’s knowledge set, and she cannot even begin yet to comprehend what has happened, only that they are spinning, it seems like they will never stop spinning, she barely catches sight of Amos somehow detaching from the wall, weightless, and she-

Slams into the opposite side of the cup with the sick snap of breaking bones when it skids back down to earth. Soil pours into the cup and the entrance crumples, everything goes dark…

And for a second, so does Hayame’s mind, her body limp and sprawled out unnaturally (wrong, something’s wrong) in the mix of fertilizer chunks, pebbles as big as their bodies, and gardening soil.]

atsumu —

[baltimores]

[ They need to find the Effigy’s items. They need to find them, take them back to Zenith camp, guard them until it’s time to return them and win the Oracle—

There is yelling.

There is very loud yelling.

He might recognize the voice of the one who is doing the yelling.

No, wait, yeah, he definitely recognizes that voice. And for as much as Amos doesn’t want to get too distracted from the goal… it’s Atsumu, and Atsumu sounds like he needs some kind of help, and yeah Amos pretty much has to drop everything and help him, or else he’d really be a complete piece of shit, wouldn’t he.

Craning his neck upwards isn’t doing anything, though, and there’s no way he can scale anything that quickly… Amos is left to rush over to the base of the tree that Atsumu seems to be caught in somehow and disable gravity’s effects on him from there. Float on up. Steadily rising to the source of the yelling, ready to help… hopefully… ]

[settingup]

[ Atsumu was very much on the same page about finding those items and all that. It's just that he's felt a draw to other items that might be of less pressing importance along the way. Side quest items, if you will, and having played a number of video games in his young life, Atsumu absolutely will. He knows that you have to complete the side quest before you launch yourself into completing the main one.

It's just that even side quests happen to have bosses you have to clear out, and right now he's stuck yelling at one such theoretical side boss to fuck right on off.

He's found the gun he was searching for, but lacking any knowledge of how to use it (including how to turn the safety [or any such equivalents] off), he's taken to waving it wildly in the air in front of him, occasionally batting away one of the eight spindly legs that keeps reaching tentatively out towards him to check if he's gotten tired of struggling in the web yet.

He has not, and newly furry little feet thrash wildly in air as also newly furry ears flatten against his skull and he takes another swing at a leg, smacking it away with enough force to have the spider skittering away again. If the whole volleyball thing doesn't work out for him, he could have a career yet as a batter. ]

I said get lost, you creep!!

[baltimores]

[ What the fuck happened to Atsumu—

Okay that's actually a wide-ranging question, between the changes in physical appearance and the part where a spider keeps poking at him and—

That's his gun.

That's his gun!

How everyone ended up in this situation is a question for later, though, because there's a lot more at stake right now. Amos has floated on up high enough to be eye level with Atsumu now; he is also presently useless as with only air surrounding him he can't exactly move in any direction other than up or down. Not unless he tries to like. Swim through the air or some shit, which seems dubious.

Shit. At least the spider moved away... ]

Hey, Fox! [ A second, as it dawns on Amos how appropriate that nickname has suddenly become. Huh. ] You able to unstick yourself from that shit at all?

[ He has never been caught in a spider's web; he wouldn't know. ]

gray —

[baltimores]

[ It’s a lot easier to hunt for the Effigy’s objects when you can fly.

Amos has had a couple of days now to get used to the wings — styled after those of a black witch moth — that have sprouted from his back; a couple of days to get used to the sensation of being able to move in all directions when in mid-air, as opposed to the simplistic up-and-down his control over gravity gives him. Not like he’s an expert or anything, but at least he can cover more ground this way.

Air.

Whatever.

It’s unfortunate that there’s just so much ground to cover, though. Way more than could be reasonably expected when they’re this small. And yeah, yeah, teamwork and all that, but… still.

At least he can search higher ground now, flit from tree to tree in search of good vantage points. Supplies to make sure they can ride this entire thing out. An object, if he’s lucky—

It’s a little branch he’s perched on, not too high off of the ground, when he spots something glinting from the tree across from him. His eyes narrow as he starts to take off towards it, slowly but steadily rising higher into the air as he approaches a spider’s web — and something shiny held within it.

Is that what he thinks it is… And is this his lucky day, with nobody else around to take it from him?

(That’d be a no on both counts, but he doesn’t know that just yet.) ]

CRAWLS IN...

[gravings]

[ Gray is as well-suited as a person could be to scouting the garden — without the power of flight, that is. She's a flea among the grass, hopping nearly weightlessly from peak to peak while scanning for resources, people, lost items, anything that might be worth informing the other Meris about. Even so, she nearly misses the distant glint of something stuck in a tree overhead...

She changes course and begins to traverse the trunk of the tree. It's a journey even for her; the craggy texture of the bark is magnified into an endless series of vertical hills at this size, and the going is uneven and tenuous. Still she climbs doggedly, her limbs sure and swift. For most of her life, mountainsides were all she knew. She pays no mind to the height as she rockets up at a sprint.

Eventually she reaches the shiny thing: a fairy wing trapped in a spiderweb. At the very same time that she lays eyes on it, she catches something in the air coming straight at her. Gray recognizes Amos's beard nearly before the man himself. It's a hearty beard, and not many Shard-Bearers seem willing or capable of matching it.

As much as she's like to greet Amos and admire his new wings, there's no room for pleasantries when he's undoubtedly here for the same reason as she is. With a speck of regret at how rude she's going to have to be, she unstraps a glaive from her back and leaps to a small leaf above the web. She slices the leaf off at the stem and rides it down — right onto the spiderweb, creating a platform for her to stand on. From here, she can try to hack out the fairy wing without getting stuck to the web herself — but the web is strong and stretchy and sticky, and it takes longer than expected for her blade to sever the strands. ]

[baltimores]

[ It is, indeed, a hearty beard (and perhaps going a number of days out here without the means nor the time to see to much in the way of personal grooming have made it that little bit heartier).

It had been easy to not notice Gray at first, even though they're both tiny; the glinting fragment of a wing taking up far more of his focus than anything that might have been hopping or climbing in the distance. Now, though, with that activity above the web the presence of a Meridian is unmistakeable. When he gets close enough to identify her, though — see just who it is riding that leaf down to the wing — he falters, for just a second. Stops in mid-air, wings flapping uncertainly.

Any other Meridian, sure, he could try to kill on sight. But Gray?

Ugh this sucks. Even as she's working to free the wing...

He comes to a decision, pulling out his blaster as he flies in closer, aiming for the tip of the leaf and burning a tiny hole through it. A warning shot, which he probably wouldn't do for anyone else. ]

Hey. [ And he raises a hand in greeting, not exactly liking this but, well. You do what you've gotta do. ] Might want to back off and leave this one to me.

[ It is an amicably-delivered threat. ]

dokja —

[baltimores]

[ Amos has really not paid much mind to the objects that he knows are out there.

Yes, he’s gotten two of his guns back thanks to his friends; his blaster-style gun strapped to his side, while his old-style shotgun remains back at Zenith camp for safekeeping (and because it’s far less useful). No, he is trying very hard not to think about his old gun presently somewhere within Set’s grasp, because if he does he’ll get smad all over again. Yes, when he’d come across something of Gen’s he’d picked it up for him right away, happy to return it.

No, he does not give a fuck about Dextera’s sword. Fuck that guy. He’d rather chase after the Effigy’s objects and ensure his fellow Zenites have enough resources than waste any time on that shit, even if it means he could hit Dextera with something bad.

But.

Say, in his search for the Effigy’s objects, he spots something peaking out from the centre of a patch lake of mud.

Say he knows exactly what it is as soon as he lays eyes on it.

Say he starts to fly over there with new, black witch moth-like wings to retrieve it, because he might as well if it’s right there, right? And hurt Dextera in some way. Hopefully hurt Meridian’s chances of a win on top of securing the latest victory in their grudge match.

Sure would suck for him if someone else were to come along and stop him from what seems like a straightforward (if potentially messy) retrieval, wouldn’t it? ]

[salvageable]

[ Hello, that sucky someone else is here, and Dokja flies in with his own large, black-feathered wings. Horns also sit atop his head, revealing that this isn't the usual acquiring of wings that so much of the others have gone through, but that really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. He'd spotted Amos from some distance away, and as soon as the other man had appeared to spot something, Dokja had wasted no opportunity to fly after him. It's something of an underhanded method to utilize, waiting for another person to do the work, and then swooping in after the item's already been found, but it cuts down on time.

It's only when Dokja recognizes the item that Amos is after that things grow a little more serious. Had it been an Effigy object, he might have spent more time weighing his options, but upon realizing that it's Dextera's sword at risk here, the matter becomes personal.

The speed in which he hits the "lake" is entirely superhuman, cutting Amos off with hardly a glance in his direction as Dokja's fingers wrap around the hilt of the sword to yank its blade out of the mud. It's all in one smooth, fluid motion, so much so that Dokja doesn't have to touch down on the ground before he's rising back in the air with the sword now in his grasp.

When he turns around to face Amos, hovering in the air, he narrows his eyes. They haven't run into each other too much in the past, but Dokja certainly remembers the man and what side he stands on. ]

Thanks for finding this. I'll make sure it gets back to its owner.

[baltimores]

[ What the fuck just happened—

One moment Amos had been flapping on by on slightly unsteady wings to wrench a sword from the mud, acquire a new weapon, fuck over its owner in the process. He's earned this, hasn't he? He may not be a good person, but he tries his best. He's trying to get the win for Zenith. Set already took something of his, and now sometimes he ends up with bear ears and a tail for it. What the fuck did he do?

The next moment, something is whizzing right by him, a far more practised flyer claiming his prize from out of nowhere and leaving Amos to just hover there stupidly as he looks up at what just happened. Who that was.

Amos' eyes narrow in turn, recognizing Dokja. And it's this shit again, huh? Just like that? ]

The fuck you will.

[ It comes out as something of a snarl, teeth unexpectedly pointier than they were a moment ago, as bear ears once again begin to make themselves known on top of Amos' head, wiggling their way out from under his hair to match Dokja's horns just because.

And then Amos is taking off once again, flying up after Dokja, gun drawn and shooting at him to get him to drop the sword. To get him to drop entirely, too, if he can. ]

liem, hayame —

[baltimores]

[ Time is running out.

That shit with the ants was annoying; exhausting. A completely unneeded setback when not all of the items are yet in the right place; neither side has all five of them, he’s pretty sure. Neither side has everything that they need. And wouldn’t it be some shit to raid Meridian’s camp only to come back and find that they’d already done the same to Zenith’s?

Amos is, for the time being, guarding Zenith’s camp, patrolling just outside of its borders. His weapons — a dagger, a blaster — are both holstered, though his hand hovers near the blaster’s grip, ready to grab it at a moment’s notice.

He knows they’ve at least got some of the Effigy’s objects back here. (He is unaware that some have already been taken; the bell he’d claimed earlier gone in act of sabotage.) He also knows some likely remain in Meridian’s grasp (Set…). Maybe in a little bit he can find someone to cover for him, try to go after Meridian’s camp. Round up some others and haul everything needed back here so they can claim the Oracle tomorrow.

But for now he patrols, the main obstacle blocking anyone’s path to entering Zenith’s home base. His eyes sweep out over the darkness, the tall grasses surrounding the area from which just about anybody could emerge, from any direction… ]

[sterngaze]

[Victory is within Meridian’s grasp now, Liem is sure. It’s almost close enough for him to taste, drawn nearer inch by inch with trickery and guile and betrayals and gruelling, unfaltering dedication. Some of the effigy’s items are already within Meridian’s grasp; they just need to collect the last, and finally an opportunity has presented itself for them to do just that.

Long nights and “days” in this greenhouse of giants has made Liem nearly unrecognizable. The tidy suit he arrived in has been soaked, stained and rumpled from days upon days of hard, uninterrupted use. Slashes running up the back allow for long, black wasp’s wings to slant elegantly behind him, emphasizing the strange, fae cast to his features and the unfamiliar, angular construction of his body. In the shadows, he seems to melt away and almost disappear; under the moonlight, he glitters with the gentle glow of camaraderie, motes of light sticking to him like dewdrops. He little resembles the patient, mild-mannered priest of Abadar known in Springstar and Alenroux alike, instead seeming more like a capricious mongrel of a fairy, every bit the native of this shady patch of garden.

But his familiar dagger is sheathed at his hip, and his precious, ancient crossbow is held in his claw-like hands, and the golden key with his sunbeam set into the bow finally hangs safely around his neck. He is certainly still Liem, and his dedication to Meridian’s victory in this contest remains as unwavering as ever.

They are almost at their destination when he pauses to cast a bit of magic upon himself, and upon his companion, if she will allow him; an invisible, shimmering shield around the body, magical armour that will help resist and deflect attacks when they meet with resistance — which they surely will. It will last less than a quarter-hour, so they must hurry on their way: first to incapacitate the guard at the camp’s perimeter, and then to retrieve the fairy wing itself, to escape with it before any troublesome interference arrives.

He will follow Hayame’s lead in this endeavour, accompanying her like a second shadow (or a third, given that there are two moons overhead), his pale fingers clutched firmly around the stock of his weapon. And though he keeps to the shadows, when she makes contact with the enemy, he will be sure to accompany her own longer arrow with one of his own.]

[warmare]

[... Hayame allows Liem's spell, when normally she might not. The enemy has lucked themselves into too many strange, unpredictable abilities over the coarse of the last week not to. They could become invisible, they could take on the appearances of their allies, they could manipulate the ground beneath their very feet (hooves)... and she, like everyone here, had come without most of her equipment. Her recently finished armor, most importantly. Claude had put her bow back in her hand. She had her naginata.

Though she has tried to stay clean, frequently washing her robe and trying to keep herself hard to track by scent, covering it with the rub of giant herb leaves... there are blood stains all over the fabric, and not all of it belongs to Zenites. Unlike Liem's, that burst from his shoulders, Hayame's wings are sprouting from her withers... But they are too small to bear her weight properly and unbalanced on her body, pretty and feathered but ultimately useless.

But she doesn’t plan on flying out of here. She will take the path they had made, trapped for pursuers, and now that they were ready to ambush the guard that should be at the spot along the perimeter they’d chosen…

An explosion rings out on the other side of the camp. Completely unexpected, it makes Hayame freeze and bid Liem do the same. Had another splinter of Meridian chosen now for their attack? They’d made their intent clear and no one had volunteered for such a task… a squabble between Zenites? In the end, it doesn’t matter. Not now.

The guard they’d intended to silence is gone, drawn by the smoke and threat of fire.

And they are surging forward, making their way as covertly as possible towards the tent where her communing spell (shudder) had indicated an Object lay waiting.]

john —

[baltimores]

[ It’s with a foreboding sense that Amos comes to in the midst of Zenith’s camp.

His eyes crack open as for a moment — too long a moment, probably — he lays still, gazing up at what constitutes a roof for their shelter. At the darkness and moonlight past it. He’s lived in Highstorm for the better part of a year now, come to call it home, and the constant darkness has never seemed like a bad thing. (Kind of like living in space again, actually.) But combined with the aches and pains and chills and fatigue wracking his body, it seems.

Something seems.

Well, bad.

The previous night comes back to him; a Meridian raid, being taken out by a Meridian, having his blood drained — and what kind of freak does that, seriously — before he’d crumpled to the ground, blacked out, been brought back here…

But he’s still here. Still tiny, clearly. So this isn’t over yet.

But.

Amos attempts to prop himself up on his elbows, give himself a better look around as his voice croaks out, hoarse from last night’s abuse, ] What day is it?

[hyperpotamous]

The last one, thank God. [ technically invoking himself. ] Not that I don't enjoy roughing it for days with you maniacs, but I'd kill for a cup of tea right now.

[ john is sitting nearby, looking as bored as he's felt for however long he's been here. a skeleton stands in front of the exit, which he always hopes will be a sufficient deterrent against any stupidity, but people have been disappointing him left and right in that area over the past few days.

he was absent from the raid despite being very aware of it. the weird boom that had preceded all hell breaking loose? necromancy. but nobody needs to know about that.

his clothes are also still covered in dirt and ant guts from his time in the anthill days ago because they're the only clothes he has, but he's doing his best to ignore that. ]

I imagine the clock will run all the way down for the sake of fairness, but it's just prolonging the inevitable at this point.

[baltimores]

[ Amos' focus narrows on John the second he hears his voice. And at first, he's sympathetic; he's not a big tea drinker, but something normal (that he can't go swimming in) sounds nice right about now.

That sympathy bleeds away when he references the clock running down, though — because Amos would take roughing it in this tiny hellscape indefinitely if it meant fucking winning, which, as last night's events would indicate, is not happening right now.

He goes to try to stand all the way up, clearly woozy and lightheaded but not letting that stop him; not when there's work to be done. Amos' clothes are blood-soaked and muddy and grimy and none of that matters; not when there's work to be done. (The skeleton is presently ignored because it's like. Not relevant to the goal at hand right now.) ]

It's not inevitable. [ Oh, standing back up is hard. He places a hand against the wall to brace himself. ] We still got time, right? We can intercept Meridian. Take all their shit in one go. Win this thing.

[ He turns towards the exit, only then taking note of the skeleton. A surprised blink before he continues on with shaky steps anyway, because like, maybe it'll help or something? Or he can just walk past it? Either way, Amos is fully expecting John to be right behind him. ]