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

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.]

[baltimores]

[ Everything goes dark, and Amos' discord isn't yet high enough for him to see in it.

Everything goes dark, and for a moment it stays that way, the two of them isolated with just the sounds of their breathing to keep them company, thundering steps now worlds away. And then there's light, Amos conjuring a ball of it about his size thanks to magic he picked up a long time ago; magic he knew would be useful thanks to a lifetime in the cold, dark void that is space. Having your own flashlight permanently on-hand? Awesome.

The damage that he can now see around him? Less awesome. While at least they shouldn't have to worry about air running out, they are very much trapped, with no obvious exits visible anywhere. Hayame is by the best possible chance, but something looks very wrong there. The bell is tucked away in a corner amid more soil, and Amos lowers himself back to the ground and heads for it first, because, priorities.

Except that's as far as he can get, bell tucked under one arm and nowhere else to go. He can't make the cup weightless and lift it on his own. He gives an experimental punch to its side and it doesn't even make a dent; he can't punch his way out, either.

Which leaves the soil blocking their entrance, and Hayame atop of it, mobility gone.

He stares up at what's probably their only way out. ]

Huh.

[ He's very helpful. ]

[warmare]

[The shadows Amos' ball of light cast about the cup are eerie and strange, warped by the crumpled sides and their silhouettes. One moving, one still. If there was any doubt that Hayame was out cold for the moment, it was that she said nothing, did nothing, as Amos heads for the bell they had been set to battle over. He claims it with not a word of protest from the woman who had been prepared to put an arrow in his heart.

He is allowed the chance to stare unbothered for a few minutes, examining their predicament before Hayame begins to stir. Her forelegs curl, hooves displacing a few little pebbles. Her fingers tighten, grasping, reaching for something... and her eye flutters open, vision half-obscured by her eyepatch, which was slightly shifted across her face by the impact. Unlike him, though, she could see well in the dark. The slightly glowing dark, now.]

Amos-

[She sees a figure that must be him, gritting out a sound that seemed to be his name, stripped by confusion of anger or accusation. Her bow had to be around here somewhere. Her body wouldn't respond properly yet, still clawing its way back from unconsciousness but rattled to the point that the pain almost hasn't registered yet. Amos. The bell. The cup. An earthquake. Flying. Her skull pounding, like she can feel her hearts beating in it and it might burst-]

What...

[What had happened to them?]

[baltimores]

[ At the sound of her voice, he turns from staring up at the mountain of soil blocking their exit to look at her. Amos gives her an appraising, emotionless stare, watching her now that she's awake. Now that she is not back on all of her feet. Now that she does not have a weapon in her hands.

He stares at her for a long moment, cold and empty, and then shrugs. ]

Fuck if I know. Think we're trapped in here now. Someone up above must've knocked this thing over.

[ Frustration creeps into his voice; he should not be so small that someone kicking a cup over could render him helpless. It's bullshit. All of this is bullshit—

But he has the bell tucked under one arm, already helping Zenith towards claiming the Oracle. A week and change and they'll be out of this, and he'll be better off for it.

His voice smooths over as he regards her again. ]

Can you move at all?

[ Kind of something he's going to need to know as he stands back, watching her; as his grip on the bell reflexively tightens. ]

[warmare]

[Someone up above... The idea of it, a giant (no, a normal-sized person, they'd been fucking shrunk) coming into contact with the large (no, small) cup, makes the details begin to fall into place. The "earthquake" she had felt before everything went flying, that must have been... footsteps, and the cup, with them in it... The thoughts come slower than they should, her head still throbbing, rattling, pounding as she weakly moves her head, trying to look around them better. The cavernous pale walls of the cup now crumpled, the dirt and rubble that seemingly blocked the entrance...

It occurs to her that they might use Communion to call for aid. But no... he would call his people, she would call hers, it would result in something chaotic and charged, just a brawl and not a rescue... No, they would settle it between them, she just had to get up before he could attack...

Hayame twists at the "waist" to look for her bow, barely registering that Amos is asking a question of his own. Can she move-]

Of course I...

[Her breath freezes in her lungs and her words trail off and die, her single eye's pupil dilating sharply and suddenly as her own body enters her field of vision. Past the slow heaving of her bruised flank, the curve of her aching rump, one of her back legs hangs at an unnatural angle, stained at the hock with a trickle of blood and hints of jagged, pale bone shards. In that instance... everything freezes. The pain rushes in now that her eyes have seen it and her brain has no choice but to acknowledge it, and Hayame's entire countenance drains of color, her jaw suddenly tightening into a lock and her teeth gritting to prevent any sounds escaping from her taut throat.

No.

No, this can't be happening.

There were so many wounds that a jinba could survive and recover from, but a broken leg--

She doesn't know how long she freezes. Her mouth is too dry to form words properly. But if she doesn't respond... Amos will surely strike, he will take advantage of her weakness, and-]

Of course I can move...

[She tells the most soulless sounding, unconvincing lie, her hand slowly beginning to reach for her waist. There's supposed to be a dagger there, if she could just get to it...

But there's nothing there. The Exalt Oracle had taken almost everything from them. And now-]

[baltimores]

[ His primary concern in assessing her was whether she still had any weapons on her or not, considering how she'd had an arrow aimed at his heart only moments ago. As she looks over herself, though — as she pales and is obviously holding in some kind of agony — Amos quirks an eyebrow, rising back up into the air to get a better look at her.

Sees the bone jutting out. ]

Right. [ His voice is skeptical as he lowers himself back to the ground, moves off to a corner where the soil has rendered them trapped to set the bell back down. Far out of Hayame's reach. And, like he's read her mind and implicitly agrees with her assessment on how calling for help would go for them: ] So, can you dig at all? 'cause I figure that's our best bet out of here right now, but might take a while if it's just me.

[ He doesn't even look at her as he says it, instead keeping his focus on the mountain of soil blocking their exit, analyzing it — where's the best place to start? Since Hayame isn't a threat, he doesn't have to acknowledge her as much as he would have before; since he can assure himself possession of the bell once they're free, he can afford to be relaxed and casual, like this is a thing that just happens.

He cranes his head up, looking at where the top of the cup meets soil. ]

Thinking I might have the best luck digging a hole through there, but that isn't exactly something you can help with, huh.

[ Since, you know. She's probably not climbing this mountain of soil any time soon. ]

[warmare]

[The hand that had automatically moved to where a short blade was supposed to be tied to her belt finds nothing. She didn't keep that blade for self defense, and she did not keep it to cut twine or carve wood. It was for a singular purpose, one any warrior ought to be prepared to carry out if need be...

And it is not there. She does not even want to use it but she might have to and it is not there and her fingers go white at the knuckles fisting on nothing where the scabbard should be. Or maybe that's just the pain of the break hitting her now that she's seen it, now that she tries-

At least he is not looking at her. At least no one sees the fear that flashes over the pain when she tries to shift her body and move her leg, broken bones grinding against each other and more blood welling up as torn flesh is cut further by a jagged shard. She covers her mouth in her hands to muffle the pathetic, weak sound, to swallow the urge to vomit. How long- How long before everything else began to follow? She'd seen what happened to horses that broke legs. She'd seen what happened to jinba who did. As much as she refuted the similarities between the species... jinba were just as susceptible to shock following such injuries as a horse was.

So before that happened... before she became useless, before her strong body betrayed her...]

I can do it.

[She tries to hide how her chests are tight with barely concealed instinctive panic, how she doesn't actually know if she can.]

I just... need help...

[No human could be counted on to bear a jinba's weight, but Amos... Amos had magic. Amos could make her lighter, like his doppelganger had in the icy halls of the Scorching Isles. If there was less than a half ton bearing down on that broken limb then surely...]

[baltimores]

[ He only looks back at her when she says she can do it.

Amos' gaze remains cool and assessing as he sweeps his eyes over the broken part of her body, at the way Hayame seems to be doing her best to keep it together. He assumes it's just shock and pain she's trying to suppress, because that's what makes the most sense, is what he would probably do — it's not like he has the cultural context to understand what such an injury could mean for her. Like, yeah, half of her looks like a horse, but nobody would just put her down, she's sentient?

So she must be in a lot of pain. That's all.

And it's not like that can't be pushed out of sight, out of mind when there's something that needs doing, when survival is at stake. She just needs a little help to help him. She said as much. ]

Alright.

[ Amos is making his way over towards her, slowly, just in case she's going to pull a weapon on him after all... and when it appears that won't be the case, he speeds up. Scales the little hill of potting soil that she's resting on at the base of this mountain, looking down at her body. ]

So, is there a good way for me to carry you? I've never had to do this before.

[ Lifting jinba has never been common in his line of work; is there anything he needs to know to avoid any further damage... or awkwardness... Since they're going to have to work together for a bit here, might as well start off on the right foot. ]

[warmare]

[Hayame had learned very early in life that being sentient wouldn't stop anyone from putting a jinba down as if they were nothing more than a horse. That being sentient wouldn't stop humans from butchering jinba like livestock and stripping their equine halves for meat if a winter was harsh, from breeding them or fucking them or using them as weapons in war.

People said it was different in Kenos. But she had always striven to never let herself be so weak as to need to put it to the test. Now...

She tries to mask the pain as much as she can when she looks up at him, though there is no denying how pale she is, the cold sweat that is beginning to break out on her skin, the way her back leg trembles and twitches. How--]

Just... use that weight magic a little.

[As much as she hates magic being used around her, on her... Hayame makes a vague gesture towards her lower half, where she needs the support but most men could not be counted on to have the raw strength or grip to handle the equine physique. For humans, it was easier to...]

And... then help me like a human.

[If she wasn't struggling so much to ignore the shock, she might flush or blush in shame and embarrassment for how weak the movement she makes is, what she's asking for. But she's not capable of it right now, and so instead...

She holds up her arms in request to be held and helped up. Once she was on all four (no, three) legs again... if she could just lean part of her weight on him, on his arm, or over a shoulder...]

[baltimores]

[ Amos looks over at her injured leg, back to her face. It's the same, analytical gaze as before, like he's figuring out a puzzle — no judgment, no commentary, just. Alright. She's told him what she needs; it won't pose any harm to him; he'll do it, no questions asked.

After more than a year with it, he's gotten more than good enough with his gravity magic to focus on a specific area. So Hayame will find her lower half growing lighter, the pressure easing on the injured leg in particular, until there's nothing weighing it down. (It'll affect her tail, too; send it splayed out and free, unbound and unconstrained from the gravity that would have been keeping it in place before.)

And then he reaches for her hands, using the combination of her lighter weight and his proportional strength to help bring her back up to her other feet, pleasantly chatty as he does so now that they have a direction, and letting her use as much of him as support as she wants. ]

Y'know weight's just a measurement of how much gravitational force is being exerted on us? So I guess it is weight magic, huh. Me turning that part of you weightless is just me shutting off gravity's effects on you there. Same thing as when we went flying — because we're so small we felt gravity increase on us that much more and ended up weighing, shit, I don't know how much heavier than normal. That's why I extricated myself from it. It was like going back up into space; you experience forces like that for too long and your blood'll pool in your lower extremities, depriving your brain of oxygen. And then you'll die.

[ Physics! And a substantial part of what the class warfare of his canon is based on. A beat as he looks up at her, up towards the top of the soil mountain where maybe a sliver of a window of the outside world will let in fresh air for them, show them where they need to dig in order to get free. ]

I make myself weightless, I don't gotta deal with any of that. I make that part of you weightless, you don't gotta deal with it for the moment. As long as I'm around I can maintain it for you, at least. Multi-task.

[ As long as he's around, because like, there's a limit to how much he's going to help her. This, right here and now, is just common decency, and he's plenty fine with fulfilling that much. ]

[warmare]

[Physics.

The problem of course being… that Hayame doesn’t understand physics. Not in those terms. Of course, she understands their effects well. She knows how her arrows fly through the air and what can affect them… she knows that once her large body has been thrown into motion there is very little that can stop it without gradual reductions or consequence… But the vocabulary to discuss it so scholarly-seeming (to her) like Amos does then…

Hayame can’t help but let out a shuddering, pent-up breath through her nose as the weight- no, gravity? exerted on her broken leg eases, then has to suck it back in and grit her teeth to keep what might have been a cry to a series of low, begrudged whimpers as getting to her feet, assisted by the partial weightlessness, moves the limb from sprawled out broken at an angle to hanging downwards. It’s still half curled and slowly weeping blood from where the bone punches through her dun hide, occasionally seizing despite her intent to keep it still, but. Better, that’s better-

As weak as she feels, Amos’ expression remains free of disgust or judgement, and that allows Hayame just enough leeway to move, to clutch at his hands and shoulders to rise, pausing halfway to press her forehead into his collarbone and pant in short, pained breaths against his chest before she gathers her strength and manages the rest of it.

She’s up. She’s not going to die on her belly in the dirt. If she doesn’t say something the only thing will be silence and the proof of her weakness-]

How… how do you all live in so inhospitable a place… ?

[She doesn’t need to ask “why”. It’s the same reason the few free jinba left in the province gathered on the dangerous, frozen slopes of Mt. Tsurugi.

To escape. Right?

Even if she thinks the answer he gives might be too technical for her again, she still asks, inviting him to fill the air with his voice. To mask any sounds of strain as she transfers her hold to a more tenable one for movement, grasping his arm and shoulder with her weight heavy but actually manageable for a strong human as long as his magic was active. Like this… she can take slow steps on three legs… and begin to accompany him to where they might should begin digging.]

[baltimores]

[ He lets her use his body for support as she needs to, waits for her to be able to haul herself up as much as she can without complaint. Amos shoots one look back at her broken leg while she's still working on righting herself properly, and... yeah, that's pretty bad. And yeah, he could fix it pretty quick himself, here and now.

And no, he isn't going to volunteer that information — because that would be a dick move, to hold the cure to her ailment right in her face and deny it to her; because before this happened she had been prepared to kill him. And as long as she's hindered like this, the bell is effectively his; she won't be able to stop him once they've dug themselves free from going back down for it and making off without her.

So a quick look back at how bad things are for her — and then he's helping her up to where that bit of moonlight is peaking through, atop the soil they have to climb. Pace slow, steps surefooted, and just as conversational as before — because trying to take her mind off of the pain isn't going to be a bad thing, for either of them. ]

We'd build our own environments. I lived on ships, mostly. Trips between places could take months, so they were an alright place to be. There were stations too, though; kinda like permanent cities, but my work usually kept me on the go. So you build these places, make sure they're air-tight so nothing can get out, and you import stuff from elsewhere in the system — ice for water, food grown elsewhere if you couldn't grow your own.

[ And the going may be slow and steady, but they're getting there, Amos making sure to keep Hayame's leg weightless; maintaining his grip on her any time she may falter and waiting until she's good to continue before proceeding. ]

That's where I came in; I use to work on an ice hauler. Made sure our ship worked so we'd be able to bring water back to people who needed it. Wasn't a bad gig.

[warmare]

[As long as they take it slow, take it careful... She is managing it. Her skin is pale and green at the gills from the pain still, but she is a proud woman. She is accustomed to pain, enough to be able to swallow it down and power through it. As tempting as it might be to not help, to keep him out of the battle as she slowly bled out or gave in to shock spreading through her heavy body... No. Meridian needed the Bell to win. If the Bell was trapped in here alongside them...

At least if it leaves here in Amos' hands... then another Meridian can take it from him.

Ships... trips that took months... importing goods... air-tight ships to prevent this killer "space" from getting inside and killing everyone... Hayame clings to the conversation for focus.]

If we want ice outside of winter... we must cut it from the pond and store it in a cave...

[How insane it was to her, sometimes, how different their worlds seemed to be. The technology he'd spoken of, the advancement she could see clearly in his gun when she was used to newly-invented matchlock rifles... Hayame swallows thickly, her fingers tightening where she grips Amos for support, able to hobble on three legs with her weight reduced, but her broken leg swings slightly as the slope steepens. Onward, onward, there is no choice but onward-]

No one in my world ever... They say that "space" is Takamagahara... the High Plains of Heaven where the gods reside...

[Did anyone in her entire nation ever conceptualize it as a place that humans could actually go? That they could travel to... ?]

The stars... are the fires of the gods' palaces...

[She hadn't really believed it, even as she pretended to conform to the religion of her masters. After all... the gods had never answered the pleas of the jinba. If they existed... they were too cruel for her to wish to turn her eyes towards. (Hah.)]

[baltimores]

[ He shoots her a glance as she speaks before returning his gaze forward, upwards; they're almost at the edge where soil and cup meet open air. It isn't too far now before she should be extricating herself from him, before they should both have their hands in the soil, seeking to make that little hole big enough for them to go through. (Or at least big enough for him to crawl through.) His light follows them up the hill, an ever-present ball of illumination just above their heads, coming up to the top of the cup the further they ascend... ]

Yeah, so that was probably bullshit. [ Not like he's reading her mind there, just drawing from his own experiences. ] Stars're just big balls of plasma. Gods don't have anything to do with them.

[ A beat, as he supports her en route to the top of the hill. As they reach it and he stares down at the soil at their feet, mutters quietly, ] Pretty sure gods aren't a thing, anyway.

[ He blinks up at her. ]

You need any help kneeling back down?

[ Time to dig their way out of here. ]

[warmare]

[With a few simple words, Amos dismisses the faith of her entire nation, the belief system of countless humans in her world on account that he has been to the stars, traveled that High Plain. Something warrior monks had died for, debated each other for, studied countless foreign sutras and carved statues for... something priests prayed for, built shrines for...

And he just calls it bullshit, so casually and so simply that Hayame... has to laugh. She can't actually laugh very well, not right now, not like the jilted, barking sound he'd heard over communion when he'd told her about Vern, the sound cut off prematurely because she was shocked by the rare sound of it. This time, she doesn't have the breath for it. The sound dies... but it had existed. Her lips had tried to twist into something like a smile.]

I never believed in them...

[But that's past tense. She has met gods here. They are just as fickle and powerful and damnably unknowable as she might have thought. Even having sworn her service to one... the idea that she could pray to him for help, that he might, say, come to save her now... ?

She tries to laugh again. A sadder note this time, that gives way to practicality. The person here who could and maybe would help her, to... an extent, an Oracle-minded selfish extent not so unlike that god she thought of... was Amos. Her teeth dig in to her lip, and she uses the hand not clinging to him to support to brace herself further on a nearby rock.]

If you could... splint it-

[It would be advantageous to him, as much as it burns. It wouldn't make her any more able to pursue him, but it would potentially keep her conscious and working longer, better.]

Normally I carry... bandages, but.

[The Exalt Oracle had robbed them of all but one of their possessions before bringing them to this bizarre place in this ridiculous size. She'd tried stripping a plant for something that would substitute, yet had not yet found something that fit. Typical. What did that leave them with... ? She wore an underlayer, she could forfeit her robe...]

[baltimores]

[ He looks over at her at that laugh. That has to be a good sign, right? It's short and quiet and kind of pained, but it's not the kind of thing she normally does. So, that's two points for him now: helped her get back on (most of) her feet, made her laugh.

He gives her that little bit of a squeeze when she says she never believed in the bullshit of her past world. Solidarity? Encouragement? Maybe it's just a bit of generic support, the attagirl she gets for making it this far up the hill with him; for not believing in stupid shit (or at least nothing stupider than Meridian, anyway).

That second laugh is sad, though, and he removes his hand from her at it, unsure if she still needs him so directly. If she wants him. They're up here now, after all; all of them, even with one of Hayame's legs rendered weightless, even with her in pain and doing her best to hold it together — which has been, evidently, successful only to an extent.

He looks back at her leg when she suggests splinting it, shadows playing across his face.

Amos could heal it. Right here, right now. Reset the bone, put everything back into place. Mend her skin and make it as if it was never broken in the first place. No need for splints, or bandages, or any of that shit...

And if he does, then she will have the physical advantage on him. One of the Effigy's objects is sitting right in the corner, inaccessible to her.

He sighs, turning away from her. Looking back down the hill. ]

I'll be right back.

[ And then he's backtracking, looking over the soil they climbed up for anything sticking out of it. He knows they passed something on the way up, they had to have — and there it is, what's not even a twig that got lost in the potting soil, but perfectly jinba-sized. Amos wrests it free from where it's partially buried, makes his way back up to her with it.

And stops, again, standing there stupidly. ]

Not sure what to tie it with. Not like I got any bandages on me either.

[ He doesn't even carry them, because he has magic he can use instead — a fact he continues to not disclose. Amos blinks down at his own clothing, but... he only has the one set, and he is maybe not inclined to start messing with it so early into being stuck down here...

He's trying; he just also so happens to have shitty constraints — it is war at the moment, after all. ]

[warmare]

[Attagirl. How pathetic, that she is in so much pain to be bolstered by something as banal as that. Normally, she would rebuff it, call it condescending at best, take offense as she so often did... but since learning certain things, coming to certain... understandings... She had accepted things from Amos Burton she would not tolerate from everyone.

Set had insulted her, all but called her a fool for it. But she didn't want to hear a fucking thing about that from Set, who consorted gladly with the demon that had ripped her eye out, with that gaki Silco, with the proud slaver Voryn Dagoth, with every foul being this world saw fit to bring into existence with a shard in it. (Sometimes... Sometimes she wonders if the only reason she hasn't killed Amos Burton is because Set demanded she do it, daring to compare her "friendship" with him to that the war god shared with scum.)]

Ah.

[He leaves her to search for something to splint it with and she grips the rock in his absence, balancing on three good legs and momentarily letting the mask drop. More than the actual amount of pain (she had always been raised to take pain) it was the instinctive, creeping fear. Fear of being put down, no matter what world she was in, fear of being made lame, no matter if there was healing spells, fear of shock setting in and making her too weak to kill herself, fear of... fear of dying, now that she had someone who would mourn her.

But then he's back, the mask is back, and he... A gentleman would use his own shirt, but Amos is not a gentleman, and Hayame had rarely been treated like a lady. Still, she bites into her lip and... hesitates, like a maiden, even though, months and months after she'd first attempted it at the masquerade, she has managed to make herself not a maiden anymore. (Stolen it, that precious extra ten thousand ryo from her sale price.) But it's just an instant, there's an Oracle at stake... and then she pushes past it, jerking her robe open with one hand and shrugging out of it. She debates for another brief instant, before,]

... Close your eyes or turn your head. I swear on my honor I will not attack you.

[Once he does... she unties the bindings that she uses to viciously minimize her breasts. Easier to use cloth already sewn into strips than try and rip it from her robe. And perhaps there'd still be enough left to do a slightly less tight binding, if her modesty was lucky. The binding cloth, she pushes into his hand, and once she's draped her robe awkwardly over her freed breasts beneath a splayed hand, she clears her throat.]

- You may move now.

[baltimores]

[ Their aspects are separate enough form one another that he picks up nothing internal from her; that he cannot help her and she cannot help him with anything outside of the physical. That's the world they both operate in, anyway — the physical, two beings accustomed more to action than anything else — so maybe that's for the best.

He returns, and she is no different from how she was moments ago; she is moving to undress herself, and... ah.

He turns away, eyes closed, as she asks him to preserve her modesty. Sure. He's got no problem with that. Didn't even need the disclaimer. He feels the cloth suddenly thrust into his hand and instinctively closes his fist around it; cracks his eyes open — while still facing away — to look at both it and the not-twig in his hands. Considers them, until she gives him the proper all clear.

Amos turns back around to face her before moving to her injured leg, taking it in his hands as he lines up the not-twig with it. (The cloth floats beside him, to be utilized when he's ready.) ]

Alright. This might hurt a little. [ She probably doesn't need the warning; he is being truthful, though — there isn't actually anything he can do for the pain here.

And then he's tying the splint, using as much force as he needs to in order to do a good job. Doesn't matter if she's hurting, doesn't matter if she instinctually tries to kick — he holds it firmly in place, not letting go until he's satisfied with the job he's done.

He is, at least, not going to half-ass first aid.

That much sorted, Amos lets out a breath. Looks up at her before turning to kneel in the soil, putting his hands to work on digging a little hole out, almost like a dog. (He is steadfastly loyal; maybe he has a bit in him after all.) ]

You good to help out? I'm alright if you can't. Just might take a bit longer.

[ As though he isn't planning on crawling out of here the second there's a space big enough for him. ]

[warmare]

[For some reason, even though her own body is being buoyed by his strange control over weight (gravity), it is the sight of her breast binding cloth just floating there that really... makes her realize. Ah. That was what was happening.

But she doesn't have time to linger on it. He warns her he will begin, and she grits her teeth to make sure she does not bite down on her tongue, the whimpers of pain she is unable to swallow muffled by the clench of her jaw and the cage of her lips. He is competent, and strong, and she is trying her damndest not to jerk her leg away, and with those efforts combined the leg is splinted, the jagged bits of broken bone temporarily slotted back into a semblance of what they should be... But it does not stop the bleeding, only slows it. It is still... potentially a matter of time.]

I can do it.

[Yet she redons her robe, knotting it with shaky fingers, repeating the line and slowly, carefully easing herself down to her belly beside him despite, her splinted leg held out stiff and useless in the dirt. From there, she begins to dig. Weighs it again, the potential value in calling for reinforcements, trapping him in there with her and the Bell, attempting to suffocate him in the soil, or gambling on someone else being able to reclaim the Bell later if she allows him to take it out of the cup.

For a few minutes, she is silent. There are rocks mixed in with the dirt that are heavier and harder to move at their current sizes. She concentrates on the work. Until,]

Do you have a blade on you... ?

[She is still moving, but... she looks a bit paler than she had before.]

[baltimores]

[ As far as he's concerned they're all good here; Hayame has nothing more to worry about. Not in the immediate moment, at least; not with them trapped within the cup. The blood isn't so bad. Not like she's going to pass out from it.

Especially not if she's right beside him, getting to work.

He doesn't know what's going through her head as they dig in silence; doesn't particularly care. They're both doing what needs to be done right now, right? If she tries anything he's confident he'll have the upper hand, able to send her careening into the cup's ceiling or throw her down the mountain of soil or something else awful. He has nothing to worry about, and so he digs in silence, assured at his impending victory.

When she speaks up, he stops. Turns to look at her, the hesitation playing out far more nakedly on his face than he'd ever allowed it to before. There's an internal debate going on in his head, until... ]

Yeah. I do.

[ Because the going is easier with her working alongside him, and because she looks like she's fading. Amos pauses for a moment longer before slowly reaching for the dagger hilted at his side, passing it over to her.

It isn't that he's nervous about giving her a weapon — it's that it's the dagger Yima gave him, not too long after they first arrived. Not a lot of objects are important to him, but this one is.

And he isn't going to comment on it, except, ] Make sure I get that back.

[ And then he resumes his own digging, still uninjured, still ready to get out of here with his prize. ]

[warmare]

[Maybe he should be nervous. This isn’t the streets of Springstar, when they were sharing a meal. It wasn’t one of the other mysteries happenings that struck Kenos, where faction tensions could be set aside for the sake of some other success.

An Oracle was at stake. And no matter how many in their number hemmed and hawed about if they knew the full truth of things, if the Oracles could really bring their worlds back or make a new one, if they knew what they were fighting for… Hayame is pretty sure Amos feels the exact same way as she does, conclusion-wise. The conclusion of so what? Mystery or not… the Oracles were what their leaders asked for. The only concrete, solid lead on accomplishing their goals that was put in front of them.

So you pursue it and you get them and you fucking win.

But here and now, with these odds and this circumstance… Hayame just takes the blade she’s offered. She draws it just enough to check the sharpness… and then she sheathes it back and sticks it in her obi.]

It will return it to your hand, on my honor.

[She doesn’t say (yet) why she needs it. She says honor, even though she knows Amos has no honor- at least, not any system that would be classified as such in her own. But he does not have to believe in honor. He just has to believe that she believes.

Even as her strength slowly wanes, the equine leftovers of instinct and nature in her body far more susceptible to systemic shock than a human was, she continues onwards. Bit by bit, they remove rock and soil, to the point that she has to shift her heavy body and drag the splinted leg forward slightly, leaving a weeping red trail in her wake.

But eventually, just as she is about to ask him to speak, to give her something she might latch onto with her focus…

Their hands pull back dirt to reveal light.]