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

[warmare]

[I am prepared to kill you. Every time. Set had said that to her, once. So she would be a fool to be surprised that he looks just about ready to attack them now. (And yet, since he had insisted they were friends... She has found that a part of her, a very small part of her auxiliary heart that she keeps as secret as she can... might just be a suffering, resentful fool.)

Still, Hayame simply stands there, ready to be attacked physically, attacked verbally... or spoken to as an ally or a friend. Something would happen, either way, if she simply waited. She holds her tongue through his words, (shoots Dimitri a look that advises him to do the same, halved gaze to halved gaze), resisting the urge to respond too quickly, and the result...

Is the Prism tossed their way.

Hayame waits a moment... but she does move to pick it up, holding it firmly and protectively. This godsdamned object that she and Dimitri had clawed to claim, that those sneaking thieves had robbed them of... and that Set has reclaimed. One piece required for a Meridian victory. But with it in their hands... She lingers. If she only cared for the mission, she would leave then and there to secure the Prism somewhere safe. ... But she cares for more than that.]

Who is most worthy now, Set?

[He is a god of war, and they are warriors who have pledged themselves to him, who provide his offerings, if not in different ways. Would he not command them? Would he reject their offers to fight at his side? Would he deny them the knowledge of who had wronged him, keep them from joining him in revenge or plot? Would he explain at all what has him so on edge and wanting to inflict pain for pain's sake?

She does not know. And so she asks.]

[hauntedking]

[ Set is an enigma but Dimitri likes to think he has a handle on the god after their encounters and after he's dedicated a part of himself to him. Perhaps that's foolish of him; perhaps he ought to be warier. But he doesn't allow himself to feel wary of him. He is mercurial, true, but he is still Set and he - they - are both pledged to him. Maybe that's a mistake to think that bonds of Meridian and bonds of worship will hold. But he'll go on believing that, because he doesn't have an alternative. He cannot - will not - see the worst in the world.

He exchanges a glance with Hayame and can read the warning in her gaze. So he bites his tongue - at least until the Prism comes clattering onto the earth between them and then Hayame stoops to retrieve it as he stares at Set and tries to get a read on him, on what's happening. More worthy victims, he says - and he understands that Set seeks someone (something) to vent himself on. Perhaps because he has his own experience from the last time - the Iconoclast and the withering gaze it turned on him, the way it scooped him out and left him hollow and wanting. He shifts his weight, a frown creasing his features. ]

What has happened?

[ Because it is rare he sees Set like this. In fact - he thinks it's the first time he's seen Set be anything but laughing and careless and wild. He is still wild now - but wild like a storm, threatening and dark, looming over everything around him and threatening to smash apart whatever is in his grasp. ]

Who is this "someone"? Or would it be anyone?

[redsoil]

Anyone.

[ Once he has passed the prism off to them, he expects them to depart. That would be the wise thing, than to linger.

Instead, they wait. They ask his thoughts, and the searing thing within his heart throbs and aches and thinks I do not need them, they need me, knowing it for a lie. His heel drags in the dirt, an irritated motion not unlike a mirror to Hayame's stamping hooves or the grinding of toes upon something that needs to be crushed. What can he say to them, that is not deeply private? That is not a baring of vulnerability? That is not a sign that the god they follow is not weak at heart.

( He thinks of the two Zenites he has tricked and beaten. ) ]

Amos Burton, I will always condemn. Minegishi Gen is mine.

[ Especially now. Their relationship is tenuous but wild, and Set will not send his warriors to deal with the young man when he is the one who ought to do so. He was wronged, so Gen will be punished by his hand and their relationship righted by him alone. ]

Time has brought the pieces of my child to Kenos. Four parts of his whole being, captured in canopic jars the way —

[ He stirs the sands of his body with his hand, twisting his wrist to tear a hole in his form and produce two pale, stoppered jars with animal-head figures. He snarls his way through the words; Hayame knows, what he says. Dimitri will find the information new, and perhaps... telling. And he informs them both, because — the image of a grieving, injured father given to madness is a better one to wear than a god of capriciousness, a manipulative and selfish creature. ( No better than a demon, he had once said. ) ]

He returned only two, after I retrieved the Shard of his own loved one. He is unaware of what he holds, only that it is of dire importance to me. I do everything in this world, for my son — !

[warmare]

[They need me, Set tells (lies to) himself, I do not need them, but Hayame is still standing there despite his insulting welcome, despite having retrieved the Prism... precisely because he is the one who had once stood on the border between the hot sands and the freezing snow of their communion-mind and taken the first step forward to stroke his fingers over her cheeks and say we need one another.

Because she still clung desperately to the idea that he had been telling the truth, then. That he had meant it when he said he would always listen for her, that nothing could rob them of their friendship but her own word. That he wouldn't abandon her.

... So she cannot abandon him.

But though she opens her mouth to reply in haste when he gives them names, Set keeps speaking... and Hayame's expression, her intent to present herself only as a composed and reliable warrior cracks. His son. The sweet, soft child she had seen in the memories he had brought to life to let her "meet" him, who had wept longing for his father and nestled into his strong arms, peeking over them with wide, curious eyes when Set had bid him greet his "friend". The one that Set had made his promise to, that he valued more than anything or anyone else...

In jars? Half of him was in those two jars Set pulls from his body, and half of them are still with Minegishi Gen? That pathetic, perverse, irreverent brat who played at being Meridian until he decided he'd rather see every goddamned world burn? And for what- ?]

Then unleash us.

[In the very same decade that Hayame herself lived, miles and miles away across the sea and in a version of her world where jinba did not exist, a man pens the words: raging for revenge, with Ate by his side come hot from hell, shall in these confines with a Monarch's voice cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war. And here, Set has two loyal hounds that would bray and hunt if he would but command them to.]

That traitor will be yours-

[And she would never think to rob him of that satisfaction, just how she would attempt to demand no one else steal from her revenge against the demon that had shamed her. But there is more afoot than a single human brat feeling full of himself just because, in addition to the other magics he had gained since leaving his world, he somehow now knew how to make himself fucking invisible... and had lucked into being bound to such a precious object brought (temporarily?) into this world by the Exalt Oracle.]

But Dimitri can help clear your way. I can find your son, with the same magic I used to find the Bell and the Prism- !

[Commune with Nature. Set knew she had long avoided using the spells Meridian granted them, but after the last Oracle... she had forced herself to master them. She could not longer afford not to. And that spell... it could tell her things about the earth for miles around her- what people walked on it, what terrain existed, where there was influence from other worlds and beings... The fact that they'd watch Set beat Gen bloody with Amos' gun but not take anything from his person meant that the brat must have hidden them somewhere, so-

Hayame's forelegs paw the earth and her palm slams over her auxiliary heart as if to impress her seriousness on the war god, her intent. Her let us (help) serve.]

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri simply listens. His relationship with Set is fraught; the war god took from him his service in the aftermath of the Iconoclast oracle. They have verbally sparred on more than one occasion - and Dimitri does think he understands him, at least a little, if he also finds him aggravating and difficult to deal with it at times. But he can hear the anger and the grief and he does not think it deception - how can it be? No; he hangs on every word, his good eye narrowing as the story comes out and Set produces the jars.

This... makes little sense to him, in a way. But he knows Set is from a strange and distant land and a god in his own right. So the thought of having a person contained within a set of jars is no more fanciful than having a being contained within a single shard. Things he might have disbelieved once are now accepted without reservation. But it is still somewhat staggering to hear and it upends a part of how he views Set. So even this fickle god can have family and can care for it. That is an all too human thing, he thinks, and one he understands. It rubs at him, tugs at raw wounds that still have not healed in a decade. The ghosts that used to whisper in his ear about vengeance and justice seem to be echoed in this moment.

But he cannot blame Set for this. He has no family living, not anymore, but were he to hear that the shard of a friend - Dedue, Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid, Mercedes, Ash, Annette, Byleth - were held by another as some kind of hostage...

It makes his blood boil.

It burns from the inside. Treachery and dishonor, a foul trick to play upon anyone. No matter that a part of him thinks that Set would do the same to any other, it still offends his own sensibilities. He has never seen Set's child, not in memories or dreams, but he might imagine him in his mind's eye. To threaten the life (the soul) of a child, divine or otherwise...

No.

Hayame's words burn with righteousness and while he might at another time urge caution, he cannot find it in himself to do so now. Especially not for Gen, someone he does not truly know, but who he has wrestled with - almost killed - who has insulted him and sneered and perhaps that adds a touch of personal furor to this, despite Dimitri's attempts to hold himself apart from such things. It isn't conscious, but it's there. Something small and burning hot, worming its way into his heart alongside the more righteous, disgusted anger that fills him. ]

Hayame is right.

[ Dimitri's grip on the haft of the home-made spear he carries tightens. The wood creaks underneath the grip, as if it threatens to snap in his palm. ]

The coward deserves no mercy. To hold a hostage - to threaten the very soul of a child - is nothing less than rank cowardice. Together, we can run them to ground. We can find what he's taken and bring your child back to you - as whole as he can be.

[ He doesn't quite understand the jars, but... he's making an effort. ]

I have given you my pledge and you have given me your favor. Say the word and I will cut down any who stand between you and your child!

[ Break their skulls with his bare hands. Take their heads. There's a darkness in him and perhaps always will be. It swirls and seeps and gathers - but he holds it in check. This is not the tree or the chamber. ]

[redsoil]

— no, you will leave him be. Amos is forfeit to your will, but Gen is mine.

[ If he fervently snarls the claim, perhaps Hayame and Dimitri will think it because he wishes to visit his own type of punishment upon the young man who had failed him. Set shifts his weight upon his toes, raking his fingers over the smooth curves of one of the pale canopic jars. They might be able to see the etched sigils upon it — hieroglyphs that indicate the name of the one held within, the part of him that is tucked away in the confines of the sealed vessel.

Set holds one between his hands, reverent in his gentleness. His brows knit, the line of his mouth finding the animal-head effigy on top to press a morose kiss to something that ought not exist. Time was something he could understand implicitly, in Kenos. It was structured like a line, but acted like his experience of it — everything, anywhere, all at once. ]

I want to give Gen the opportunity to consider his next step. If he destroys my child, you may have him. But for now...

[ He wants to handle it, personally. ]

What I want you two to take away from this is a new consideration, as Meridian: the Zenites chose to involve those they wanted to treasure and preserve. They chose their undoing. That will be the way to destroy them — from now on, ensure targeting their loved ones is part of your tactic.

[ His eyes flash, alighting upon the two of them as he tucks the jars back into the depths of the sands, the sands tucked back into the depths of his body. Maybe in some part of his divine form, they rest now; he takes to approaching his snarling warriors, reaching his hands out to them. To rest on Hayame's arm and Dimitri's shoulders. ]

Find ways to locate their loved ones, We should include capturing them and holding them hostage, if not executing them, part of any future escalations.

[warmare]

[Despite how honorbound the two of them were in their own particular ways, the differences in that honor show themselves in the way Set's sworn warriors react to his news. Hayame is enraged because of the personal insult- that someone would take Set's child hostage, a child that she "knew" and had accepted despite all they had always represented to a woman such as herself, that someone would dare to wrong Set, while Dimitri seems incensed on behalf of children, of the innocents. (Perhaps, despite how publicly and violently he had raged across Communion, he was the nobler of all of them.)]

...

[Despite her expressed willingness to move, to attack, to go now if he would just command them, Hayame is silent as she listens to the war god's answer, watching (sadly) as he cradles the canopic jar with the peculiar writing of his world upon it, pressing his lips to the shape of it. If the spirits of those orphans were here... if someone were to take from her was precious little she cared for...

Fine. She thought it was far too merciful to give that brat anything less than execution, far too risky to grant him time to potentially do something to Anubis' remaining jars, but... It was not her son. It was Set's decision, and no matter how suspicious she is of the phrasing give him the opportunity, thinking cynically of the Zenith pets the god seemed to like to collect and coddle despite how much it potentially undermined Meridian's cause...

There was also the Prism to consider. It needed to be secured. Hayame's head lowers slightly in acknowledgement. Not just of his claim (which she would honor until Gen wrongs her days later), but of his advice. He did not even need to say it (to her). After all...]

It is already begun.

[Beneath the bolstering grip of Set's hand, Hayame's muscular arm flexes as her hand moves to one of her makeshift, leaf-woven saddlebags to pull from it a shard, gleaming and crimson and held tight in her fingers. One the Exalt Oracle had connected her to, that belonged to a Zenite with whom she has no personal grudge...

But she does not need one. He is a Zenite. An enemy. A man who is actively working to see the end of her hope to return to her world where she belonged. She is not cruel and not violent without cause, she has no immediate plans to crush it... yet she also has no plans to return it. For now, she has a hostage of her own. And she does not seem to see an ounce of hypocrisy in it.]

[hauntedking]

[ There's something in those words that makes Dimitri pause. His anger still burns hot and righteous but there's something else; a cooling that comes with what Set says. Punishing the wicked, protecting the weak - those are things he will gladly do. He will fight on the field of battle and drench himself in blood for the sake of others and to protect others. He will take on that weight. But the touch of Set's hand and the task he asks of him makes Dimitri hesitate. He curls his fingers against his spear again, lips pressed tightly together. He glances sidelong at Hayame and then tries to form his own reaction. He's unsure.

Floundering a little in the wave of his two companions. ]

They aren't warriors or soldiers, though. They're innocents.

[ His objection isn't precisely half-hearted. He knows that taking hostages has a long tradition - disobedient vassals can be brought to heel with wards and other such measures. But it's not something he particularly enjoys or likes considering. Someone's child or spouse or parent should not pay the blood price of another. That isn't right.

Set's touch is oddly reassuring but it also brings the discord; that tingling burn even through the clothes he wears.]

They haven't done anything...

[ He doubts. His morals are his bedrock, what he clings to to keep himself from descending into that crazed animal madness. ]

[redsoil]

[ In the end, he will not budge from the idea — he was dragged into the fight between Liem and Gen without wanting to be, and he will finish it to ( hopefully ) ensure they ( mostly Gen ) understand never to involve him in their squabbles again. It is his son who is on the line, which means all else falls to the wayside. There is no past or future for him, no Meridian nor Zenith, if he does not have his child; without Anubis, he would readily and wholly align with Silco, and seek to destroy everything. Including the future, to bring all to a halting, screaming end.

With his hand upon each of them, he feels the way they move. Hears the way they react to what he is calling for them to be prepared to to — Hayame with sound acceptance, familiar with the ruthlessness of war, and Dimitri with his halting goodness, familiar and refuting the need to harm innocents. It is why he touches Hayame again, fingers to her wrist as she produces the Shard that she has claimed as hostage of her own. There is pride in the way he thumbs against her pulse, his expression stern but eyes locked upon her own, looking upon her face without mercy. Good, he thinks, approving of her actions.

Dimitri, though. ] They are people who will get to inherit their new world, while scores of innocents Meridian seek to save will be abandoned. Why is their form of innocent better than those we seek to save? Their mere existence condemns all those Meridian bears as lesser-than-deserving. Their innocence is only preserved as long as Meridian wins.

Should Meridian not do all that we can, then, to win?

[warmare]

[Hayame's unique double pulse thrums steadier and calmer beneath the light pressure of Set's fingers around her wrist, her own fingers curling slightly in the air to move the Shard in her hand and allow the light to glint off its unblemished, crystalline surface. Displaying it like a trophy.

It seemed the (sand)storm was calming at least for a moment, growing less likely to lash out at allies with a new focus. Good, she thinks. Set was... when he was like this, it was sometimes to difficult to remember that they were supposed to be friends, that she had given him something that, to her, had been indescribably important. But even in those circumstances when she struggled to... he was still an ally. He was the god she had sworn her service to, and the one that had beckoned her into his "war room" and bestowed upon her his blessing.

Her wants, perhaps, did not matter... But Meridian needed him. Her free hand briefly clasps over Set's wrist, forming a chain.

But then her gaze follows the war god's over to Dimitri, listening to his arguments for sparing the "innocent", to Set's rebuttal... and adds, completely serious,]

They are not even real.

[She believes that. What use is their being upset over these Shards Yima hands out like candy treats to those who promise to follow her?]

We are supposed to believe that, despite how random and unpredictable this so called "time stream" is, that Highstorm's sacred bitch can pluck exactly the soul someone wants most from the worlds she claims are dead and gone? That a woman who can manipulate others' hearts couldn't put some sort of spell on them to make them "feel" right?

[She waves the Shard in her hand about... and then moves to place it back in her pouch for safekeeping, along with the Prism.]

Shards is not where you should draw the line when our own worlds and our own people are at risk.

[She'd kill every Zenite and crush every single one of their Yima-gifted Shard if that was the requirement to return home. And if her fellow warrior of Set found that distasteful... well, she is well used now to compensating for the failures of others to rise to the occasion before the Oracle. What is one more?]

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri can feel them through communion and through touch. He can see it in their body language. A determination to win at any cost, to wade through blood and fire to crush the enemy. It is familiar; something echoed in him - or at least the him from not so long ago. It hurts in a way and it rattles him. He trusts in both of them in a way that he's not sure some others do. They are his allies and that means he would gladly fight alongside them - and now they ask him to go beyond that. To snuff out the lights of lives that he does not truly know, people who may be innocent or unaware of the conflict that Meridian and Zenith have launched themselves into. ]

We should do whatever we can to win this fight. [ Dimitri affirms that, his voice steady. His convictions do not waver, in the end. He knows who he is, who he has been, who he wishes to become. ]

And I will likewise do what is needed to ensure the salvation of our worlds.

[ And to ensure that only the guilty suffer for the sins they have inflicted. But he does not quite say that aloud, even if his eye sparks and his frame straightens with a sense of renewed conviction and determination to see this through. ]

I understand what must be done. [ And he will do it.

Even if he ends up having to carve out Set's heart himself to ensure that not a single innocent soul suffers from misguided anger. ]

[redsoil]

We will disagree on that, Hayame. [ Set thinks they're real, after all.

He wants Anubis's shard ( Horus's ), but only as a last resort. ] The importance is that Zenith believes they are real.

[ It was hypocritical of Zenites to believe in a single stone and not whole worlds, but an effective tool to use against them. Even those who spoke of 'fact' and 'logic' or 'trust' in the Lady Yima, such as Rin or Atsumu, were giving themselves to some tangible thing they could use to feed their need to be right. Not reality. The reality being that the entirety of Kenos felt as though it existed to slip into their hearts and minds and press them deeper into whatever would bind them to the world and its addictive powers. ]

The Lady's abilities are not in question. I have seen and felt her manipulations, the same as I have felt those of Meridian. We are not immune to being used, simply because we serve a master of our choice — which is why, we must be willing to use their choices against them. They chose to sacrifice many for few.

[ Which is why they are more vulnerable than Meridian, in his mind.

It means they have chosen the weapons that are best used against them, and shown their bellies and throats and vulnerable places.

His eyes do linger on Dimitri, a man given to justice and the desire to part himself from a bloodied, violent history. Between the three of them, he's the one that Set expects to flinch from the idea of abusing innocents. As if there are innocents, as if they are not deserving of judgment for being beloved more than others. ( As if he, himself, feels anything for his world beyond a fragile promise: Come home, in his son's voice. ) As if anyone has any more right to exist than that child who belongs to him. Innocence does not exist, and he is perfectly fine with sinking into the mire of blood and begging screams if anyone else will flinch from it.

He was made for it, after all. ] I hope so, Dimitri. It is my suggestion, in the end. Zenites have given up on everything else, but those people they decided were worth more than your own. Besides, you do not have to destroy them if you find yourself incapable of going so far... we can just, make them disappear. And see what happens.

[warmare]

[Then they must disagree. In Hayame's opinion, those who believed in the shards being real were those who were too desperate not to believe. She had felt Yima's manipulations in her hearts, forcing a feeling of calm and maternal warmth into her as if they were nostalgic and normal... but they could not be, to a woman who had never known a mother. The idea that she would be able to use that same ability to make her precious little shards feel exactly like the person one longed for most seems obvious to her as the color of the sky.

She would trust Meridian claiming the same ability to fetch their loved ones from oblivion just as little.

But she does not needle it further. She and Set disagree on several many things. What is important now... is that the Prism is in their hands, Set has refocused, and they may decide a new course. She listens... and shuts her waist pouch with a final little snap. Make the shards "disappear"? That would work, yes.]

Or give them to us.

[If they have more mettle to deal with "innocents", then so be it. But now that the suggestion has been made, Set's claim on Gen's punishment made...]

Set. I would see this Prism back to safekeeping in Akua's hands back at camp.

[Sooner rather than later. The other woman had agreed to use her powerful magics to that end, and only that had made her feel safe leaving such important Objects in another's hands. But once they had seen that task to completion...]

Once it is done... I ask that you call upon us as needed.

[Five Objects to claim, to keep hold of, to steal, to steal back, to possess until the end. In the days to come... there will be much to do.]

[hauntedking]

Everyone has a choice, Set. And they make it, for good or for ill.

[ "Or give them to us." He doesn't like the sound of that. He doesn't like the thought of being beholden to people willing to kill or harm people who have done nothing to deserve it. Whether they are real or not, the principle remains the same for him. He does not wish to harm people who have not harmed him or his people. Innocents deserve protection - he will not waver on that. And if Set and Hayame want to think he will agree with them, he'll allow it for now.

This is not the time to make a stand on it. He shrugs his shoulders, gaze a little distant as he turns away to regard the terrain and wonders where they're going next. What happens after all of this. He dislikes this 'war' that they fight. He dislikes being forced to participate in things he finds abhorrent - but there's nothing else to be done, is there? He will fight for what he thinks is right, when the time comes. And if that means crossing his blade with Hayame or striking Set down, he'll do it. There is right and wrong in the world and he knows, deep in his heart, which one he chooses. ]

Hayame is right. We can take the Prism now and secure it. If we really do mean to win this oracle, we should be careful about this. We have much more work to do and only a limited amount of time to do it in, it seems.

[ He taps his spear against his shoulder. ]

It is more productive to act than sit and talk.