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Entry tags:
- !event,
- arknights: gavial,
- baroque: koriel xii (dextera),
- bastard!!: dark schneider,
- boy's abyss: gen minegishi,
- expanse (the): amos burton,
- fire emblem: byleth eisner,
- fire emblem: claude von riegan,
- fire emblem: dimitri a. blaiddyd,
- fire emblem: yuri leclerc,
- granblue fantasy: eustace,
- jinba: hayame,
- legend of zelda (the): midna,
- locked tomb (the): john gaius,
- oc: liem talbott,
- star wars: cassian andor,
- star wars: jyn erso,
- vampire hunter d: d
Toxic Love: The Exalt Oracle
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 theflag 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
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.
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!
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!
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.
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?
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.
— 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.
dokja | meridian, exalt.
eustace.
In all honesty, he had thought it a dream at first, but the more time he spends in the company of these strange creatures, the more he's realizing that this is very much real. He doesn't get it, of course, but he'd already done the whole "cowering in a corner" thing before someone had found him and coaxed him into making himself useful, so that's what he's trying to do now, even if he's still confused as to what this is.
Still, the errands at least allow him to focus on something other than panicking and hyperventilating, so Dokja shuffles over to the next person he spots, their height rather intimidating as he nervously approaches from behind. He's still got the basket in both hands as he stops a short distance away. ]
Um...
[ That's really all he manages as he waits for the stranger to turn around, and when he does, he'll be greeted with a small, frail-looking boy littered in bandages. They cover parts of his cheeks, his neck, and there's a peek of even more around his wrists from where long sleeves don't hide them. But there's a familiarity to him, too, with his dark hair and darker eyes that hold too much sadness in them for a boy his age. ]
no subject
His time with Gray may have left him with a little more experience on how to deal with The Youth, but there's still a marked difference between teenagers and an actual child and he's left staring down in puzzlement at this strange little child staring up at him, his hands filled with a basket of some sort. First, because where did this child come from (and more importantly, why is he covered in bandages), and second, why do those eyes spark something so familiar in the back of his mind.
He shifts on both feet, uneasy. No matter how much he tries to modulate his expression, it's impossible to completely erase the hard lines that have settled there after years of trouble. ]
Are you lost?
[ At least he doesn't sound like he's about to start lecturing this kid, small victories. ]
no subject
A very cool protagonist.
This must be him, right? This man with his imposing height, sharp eyes, and... animal ears? He looks different from the faes flitting about the greenhouse, that's for sure, and Dokja is reminded of all the heroes he's read about in his stories.
It's only after a few more seconds pass that Dokja realizes he's staring, and he quickly and very shyly lowers his head, hands fidgeting with the basket. ]
Oh, um... I'm supposed to, uh, see if you need anything...
no subject
Truly it's a good thing he has no idea of the wild thoughts filling up Dokja's tiny mind, or he would just turn around and walk away and this thread would be over. Instead, he looks taken aback by the shy offer, wondering with some consternation why anyone would put a small child covered in bandages to work instead of a functional capable adult. (Probably because there are none of those nearby.) ]
No, I'm fine.
[ It's an automatic response but it's also true. Sure, he doesn't love being the size of a pea and having nothing but a small knife for weaponry on his person, but he's not hurt in any way.
Belatedly, as though he's just remembered How To Talk To Short People, he crouches down so that they're closer to eye level. ]
Were you hurt earlier?
[ Buddy, the bandages.... ]
no subject
A couple of brief thoughts flicker by, mainly that of course this hero-looking guy is unharmed, but also some disappointment on Dokja's end at not being of any assistance. But he isn't left with any time to dwell on this, and he jumps a little in surprise when Eustace crouches down to meet him at his level.
Wow, he looks even cooler close up. ]
I'm... I'm...
[ Dokja stutters as his brain plays catch up, his starry-eyed stare back as he clutches the basket against his chest. He doesn't look bothered by the question, like he's used to being asked. ]
I fell down. I'm really clumsy.
[ It's a practiced line, and it would be hard for anyone to tell that it's a lie with the way Dokja doesn't look away or hesitate between his words. This much has always been enough to dissuade adults from asking more questions. ]
no subject
Underneath all that is a nagging sensation, persistent in its reminder that he's forgotten something. That there's something he hasn't quite grasped about this situation that remains just out of reach.
He doesn't fully believe but neither does he continue his questioning, too keenly aware of the need for some secrets to stay as they are: secrets. Instead, he nods towards the basket, too big for his small hands. ]
What's in the basket?
no subject
Even so, he fumbles with one hand to open the top of the basket, revealing the contents inside. ]
It's, um, medicine. A-and ton... tonics?
[ He tries to repeat what the fae had told him, and he holds out the basket for Eustace to look through if he wants. During that time, Dokja's round eyes drift upward, until they settle on the ears sitting atop Eustace's head. A curious sort of wonder takes hold of him then, and Dokja very shyly has to ask in a small voice. ]
Are... are your ears real...?
no subject
They are.
[ He sounds distracted as he says it, his gaze still fixed on this kid's face instead of the basket held out for him to inspect. The nagging feeling grows stronger, like a shadow slipping out from the corner of his eye, never fully visible no matter how much he turns to look.
Realizing that he's been staring too long, he ducks his head—both for an excuse to look away and to bring his ears closer. ]
Here.
[ Will Dokja get the message if it's not directly spelled out for him... ]
no subject
It feels like a dream, and one that he hopes to never wake up from. It doesn't have to be spelled out for him to know what's being offered here, and Dokja make a small noise of surprise in the back of his throat as Eustace lowers his head.
Is he really allowed to...?
Hesitation keeps him still, the uncertainty on whether or not it's polite to touch another person's ears weighing on him. But... they're right there, and this man is allowing him? Dokja carefully sets the basket down on the ground before stretching out a hand, fingers lightly brushing against the tip of one ear. ]
Wow... So cool...
[ His voice is hushed, awed, and then he's quickly pulling his hand back against his chest, not wanting to push his luck even as his wide eyes light up with amazement. ]
no subject
It's still a strange feeling, to have a someone he doesn't know reach out and touch his ears, and his body automatically goes stiff at the sensation of fingers against fur. It feels a little ingenuous too to parade off this one body part that's as normal to him as an arm or nose and have it be viewed as something special, something 'cool'.
But the awed inhale he hears eases a little bit of the heartache he feels over the depth of sadness in the boy's eyes, and he thinks maybe it's worth it if he can ease some of that, even for a few seconds.
Once those thin fingers retract, he pushes himself back up—though not before grabbing hold of the basket. ]
I'll take this. [ To help, he means, but he's never been good at massaging his words into something understandable over something brief and curt. Then: ] What's your name?
no subject
Oh. He quietly watches as his basket is taken, head tilting to the side as he does. He's not sure if this is a situation where the stranger is taking it for himself, or to help distribute it, and clarification would have really helped in this instance so thanks for the nothing burger, Eustace. Dokja feels just a little bit apprehensive that it might look like he's slacking in his duties, but his thoughts are broken into by the question.
His demeanor goes back to being shy, and he folds his hands in front of him to give a small, polite bow. ]
I'm Kim Dokja. It's nice to meet you.
[ And he finds that he actually means it? He's not just saying it for the sake of saying it, which happens to be the case for nearly all the adults he's come across in his life. This stranger is... actually nice? ]
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His gaze snaps back to the child's face, gaze far more intense than it should be. No way. Except yes way, because now that he looks again - really looks this time - at that mop of black hair and the round curve of his cheek and those long lashes that fan out over his eyes, he can see the foundation that too many years and too much experience have built upon.
The real question is: is this kid real? Did something happen to Dokja to turn him into this, or is this yet another trick, another specter conjured out of magic and tree branches? It'd felt real enough last time, the small neck warm between his hands.
He leans back on his heels, feeling awkward again, before turning and setting off, the only indication for Dokja to follow being a pause in his step and a backwards turn of his head. ]
Have you been here long?
[ In the greenhouse, in Kenos. It sure would have been nice if he could have been normal and introduced himself back, but unfortunately that's never been his style. ]
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But then the man starts moving, and Dokja is rooted to the spot for just a moment, thinking that's the end of that, but when it becomes clear that he's meant to follow, Dokja hurries after the stranger, and the nervousness from before gives way to relief.
It's short-lived, though, when he realizes he hadn't gotten an introduction in return...
He shakes his head at the question, little legs working overtime to try and keep up with Eustace's gait. ]
No... I think... maybe an hour? I was just sleeping at home, um. Before this.
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Either way, he's not comfortable leaving the kid - Dokja - alone while he puzzles out the cause of what's at play. He hadn't been around the last time shit had happened. The least he can do is stick around now. On the bright side, he finally seems to realize that his usual pace isn't going to cut it for a kid and he slows a bit, enough to allow Dokja to catch up more easily. ]
You're not scared? Of being away from home without your family?
[ Most kids would be. Then again, most kids don't take tumbles enough to need bandages plastered over half their body. ]
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The questions do give him some pause though, and it looks like Dokja has to give them some thought before he finally answers. ]
I'm not scared anymore... And my family...
[ He trails off here, expression growing uncomfortable. His fingers start to fidget with the bandages covering his other wrist, his gaze cast to the side as he struggles with what to say. He doesn't want to go back to them, to his distant relatives and all the abuse they hurl his way, but it's not like he can just say that. ]
I like it better here.
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His feet slow more and more, until they come to a complete stop. He's still looking down at Dokja, curiosity peeking through. ]
Why's that? Because it's like something out of a story?
[ If he's learned anything about Dokja during their too-long tenure of knowing each other, it's that the guy absolutely loves to read. ]
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And then the question is asked, and his expression shifts into one of surprise, like he hadn't at all expected to be read so easily. ]
Ah, um. Yes... How did you know?
[ How many times had Dokja drifted off to sleep, dreaming about waking up in a foreign land, in another world, surrounded by characters that he liked? It feels like that now, even though he doesn't recognize this story. ]
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Lucky guess.
[ It's not entirely a lie. He hadn't been sure of the reasoning when he'd asked. He looks around them again before starting up his stroll, this time slow enough so that Dokja can easily keep pace. ]
What kind of stories do you like?
[ He doesn't have anywhere to be, and there aren't too many people milling nearby in need of supplies. His interest is fixed entirely on Dokja, one that's a stranger to him instead of a familiar everyday friend. Why not take this time to probe into that small mind and learn a little more about the man who likes to conceal more about himself than reveal. ]
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Don't mind if he does. ]
I like all kinds of stories, but fantasy stories are the best. I like it when the heroes do whatever they can to save everyone.
[ He's not at that point where happy endings feel impossible. He still believes in them. ]
You, um, you kind of look like a hero, too, mister.
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And then he looks back down at Dokja, because when was the last time anyone had the audacity to call him a hero? Ironic, when most days he feels more like a villain. He probably shouldn't say that to a child though, especially one that's still looking up at him with such awe in his eyes. Plenty of time for him to be disappointed later, as cruel a thought as that is.
Later, though. For now, he wants to keep as much of that faint hope alive as he can. ]
Do you also want to be a hero?
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No, I don't think so...
[ Not when he's like this, small and weak. He couldn't protect himself or his mother from his father, and he certainly can't do anything against the people still tormenting his life now. Sometimes he tries to imagine being the hero, being the protagonist of a favorite story, being loved and adored by the companions he's on quests with, but it's still a work in progress. For now, at least, he's content with a different part that he's dreamed up for himself. ]
I'd want to help the hero, though.
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Again, he wonders exactly what had happened to bring about all that pain. Again, he doesn't ask. ]
Help the hero save everyone? Or help them just because you'll get to go on all sorts of adventures that way?
[ Or both...they're not exactly mutually exclusive. ]
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If I could get stronger somehow, then maybe I could help save people.
[ His voice grows even smaller than before, uncertain of himself, and his gaze shifts down to the ground. He's never talked this much about his thoughts, always kept them to himself, and shyness creeps back up on him. He doesn't let that stop him from answering the second question, though. ]
But the adventures together sound good, too. I think it would be nice... to not have to do everything alone...
i really hallucinated that i tagged you back this morning
you tag me in your dreams 🥺
imagine if that was the only place i tagged you
no i will not
mamoru.
Concern darkens his eyes as he scans the terrain, the shouts of calls of people from below where he's perched making it known that everyone is scrambling for shelter or cover. Good, he thinks. It's really only a matter of time before a flood starts, and everyone should be seeking higher ground. But just in case they don't, Dokja stays where he is, keeping an eye for any stragglers.
... And that chance comes by sooner than later.
In the distance, he can make out a form caught in the rain, and it's looking dicey from what he can see. The puddles have started to spread and deepen, rivers now beginning to rise as currents pick up, and Dokja hops down from his perch, sprinting in the direction of the person he'd spotted. ]