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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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
A confused blink, as she says she'll give it back to him. He has no reason to doubt her — he knows honour is important to her. Will never understand why, but at least he knows the important part — but he thought she was going to use it to help her dig or something; a tool to give her that extra boost he thought she needed. Instead, she just... keeps hold of it.
He doesn't get it, and it's with a prolonged baffled expression that he looks at her before slowly getting back to work, digging his way out in silence. He looks back at her when she moves, but since it's barely anything, it's easy to get going again.
And then there's moonlight, and he laughs, soft and vaguely delighted. He's almost free now, but before he reaches that point... He turns back to her. ]
So, you haven't been using my dagger at all. [ Still not sure what that's about, but whatever. He holds his hand out, expression bright and expectant. ] Can I get it back now?
[ His first step in housekeeping before he gets out of here. ]
no subject
But now... the time has come. Even without her help, now, it would be easy for him to widen that gap and shimmy out. But even though she had sworn she would see the dagger eventually put back in Amos' hand...
Now...]
... I would ask that you allow me to keep it when you leave with the Object.
[She does not want to beg him. But she does lower her head slightly, knowing that she is asking something he has no need nor particular incentive to give her. Likely, he would not even entertain the idea, and she would not even be able to blame him, because the rules of engagement in her world, how warriors should treat other warriors... very few of the shardbearers seemed to understand it. But-]
I will still return it. I swear that I will.
no subject
This is completely unlike her, he decides, so he also decides to cut right to the chase. ]
What's going on with you? [ There's more life in his voice than on his face; the question is genuine. ] You're not doing anything with it. You can just give it back to me now.
[ He has victory pretty much in his grasp. Just needs to make the hole a little bigger, needs to go retrieve the bell, and he's home free. He doesn't need to get bogged down in this nonsense.
... And yet, here he is, willingly doing so. He wants his dagger back, and even with the more valuable object at the base of the soil, he intends to carry both out with him. ]
no subject
... I do not think you will understand.
[No one seemed to. It was the source of a lot of pain in her that she did not like to examine or acknowledge, that what to her was so normal and expected had become upon her "arrival" in these foreign places things to be derided or dismissed as nonsensical or outdated. But it did not change how normal they were to her. How fiercely a part of her still attempted to cling to them.
Her fingers tighten in the dirt. Because this was not her world, bowing until her head pressed into the soil would do nothing. So she raises her gaze and fixes him with the one eye she has left, her gaze intent and sincere (and ashamed of her loss).]
I do not wish to be put down like a horse with a broken leg.
[She does not want him to kill her like this, now, when she can offer little meaningful fight or resistance. How pathetic it would be, like pressing a rifle to the temple of a mount thrashing on the ground after it snapped a fetlock in a ditch.]
I do not wish to lay down and die shivering and pale.
[She can sense it. Something deeply wrong and growing wronger in her body, the natural weakness one paid for a form larger and more powerful than a human's.]
If healers from Meridian do not reach me in time after you leave with the Bell, if another Zenith takes the advantage, or if some... some thing, in the gardens, comes upon me-
[Dishonorable deaths, all of them. Taken out by her own body weakening and going into shock, by some fucking insect, by an enemy who had not even won the right to her death in battle-]
I ask you leave me with a way to end my life by my own hand.
[If she survives, or must do it, then she can return his dagger with those same hands. If a Zenite were to kill her, even shatter her... the dagger would go back to Zenith, where he could reclaim it. If a bug were to make food of her, the dagger would remain in the dirt and return to size when they all did, surely, leaving it for retrieval in the grounds of the Greenwood Yards.
Either way... she believes her promise will hold.]
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He looks into her eye. Looks back down towards his dagger, still with her. Back into her eye. And heaves out a forceful exhale, frustration present in it. ]
Fuck's sake, you're not going to die. You think I would've just left you here if I thought you were going to? I would've snapped your neck and brought your shard with me until I could hand it off to someone on your side, not leave you here to suffer.
[ She said she didn't want to be put down like a horse with a broken leg, but that's not what it is in his eyes — it's euthanizing a sentient being in lieu of letting them lie there in agony for who knew how long before they finally succumbed. He isn't a sadist; he's practical, and her injury didn't call for anything drastic, so he left it alone.
Amos finally breaks her gaze to dip his head, massage at his temples. ]
You don't need to... fuck. [ This is tied to her sense of honour, isn't it. What is that with her. He lifts his head to look back up at her. ] You're not using my dagger to kill yourself just in case. Jesus. Look, you need something else, we'll figure that out. Stab yourself in the throat with one of your arrows if you feel you need to or something, I don't know. But that thing's mine, and I'm leaving here with it.
[ Because it's the only weapon he has on him at the moment; because Yima gave it to him; because he sounds vaguely offended by Hayame's request? Like he thought she had more sense than all of this.
But if she isn't going to budge, then he's just going to have to find some way to play along regardless, isn't he. ]
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You do not-
[She starts to say it, that he cannot guarantee that to her, that the risk is why she needs the blade... but he keeps speaking, and she bites her lip with sharp, inhuman canines, cursing the fact that... that she had made promises to try an survive. (Why did people even care anyway, why did they want her to live so badly, when living was so much harder than the honorable death she'd always been taught to admire?) Cursing that a part of her feels almost happy to hear that if Amos killed her he would see to her shard.
So she is worth only an arrow or her own teeth digging into her tongue until she chokes on her own blood. Messy, less sure ways to die that will prolong the effort, potentially fail... But again, she cannot feel righteous in being offended. An Oracle is at stake. She and Amos understood that. She just wants to, wants someone to understand what it meant to her.]
I know it is yours. It is because it is yours that I ask for it.
[... What did that mean?
She tears her gaze from him, to look down the hill of dirt he had helped her up with his weight magic. Down there somewhere... her arrows had spilled from her quiver in the fall. She could ask him to retrieve one for her... but it's humiliating. Almost as humiliating as needing to end her life at all, at not being able to defend herself. So she spitefully (to whom?) refuses to ask. If he leaves her weaponless... she will just have to drag her weakening body down there herself, no matter how painful movement was.
So... it is decided, then, wasn't it. Her head turns back around, but it takes a moment for her to look at him again. To find the words to say something steady, when instead she wants to rail against her loss.]
... You are the victor. It is your decision.
[If he moves to take it from her... She will not resist.]
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That throws him, his annoyances evaporating in lieu of bafflement. He kneels beside her, stunned — what the fuck does that mean — before she continues. Cedes all power to him.
... He's annoyed all over again. Amos pushes himself up off the ground, turning his back on her to head back down the mountain, taking the light from his spell with him. ]
I'll be right back.
[ And that's all he offers her, leaving her to the sliver of moonlight they'd dug out together and whatever sounds from the garden seep through with it. For several minutes he's gone, the only indications of his presence the occasional sounds of something rustling and his light bobbing along with him as he goes.
And then, soon after the tinkle of a bell breaks the air, he reappears back at the hilltop — bell tucked under one arm, her bow in his other, a quiver full of arrows resting over his shoulder. He makes his way back over to the exit they've dug, wordlessly putting the bell down first, well out of her reach. Walking a healthy distance around her, he deposits her bow — not close enough for her to reach out and grab; not far enough that she can't get to it eventually, even though it might be painful to manoeuvre her way over there.
That just leaves her quiver. Amos looks back at Hayame, shadows from his light casting themselves over his face, before he deposits the full quiver on the ground. She will have to strain to reach it, yes. But she should be able to reach it on her own.
But he's still staring down at her, face unreadable and silent, before— ]
First guy I ever killed, I just walked up and shot him. He didn't know it was coming. Second guy I ambushed. Pulled his chair out from under him before he even knew what was happening, got on top of him, got his gun and shot him in the head. The third guy...
[ There's a little exhalation there. ]
See, the second and third guy were together. I got the drop on the second guy, and that gave the third guy time to get the drop on me. He didn't wait, he just came barrelling out at me, shooting. Could've just as easily killed me first, and I wouldn't have had the luxury of time to deal with it.
[ His gaze grows flat; cold. His eyes narrow. But there's still that very human annoyance in his voice. ]
You gotta stop fucking around with this shit. I get it, we're from different places, we got different standards, blah blah blah. But if I'd acted the way then that you do now with your honour and whatever I'd've been dead lots of times over. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. We're all just slabs of meat and one day that'll be it, and the way you go out isn't going to mean shit. All it's going to mean is that you're fucking dead. All we're ever gonna have is to scrap and claw our way into continuing to survive until we aren't anymore, and then we won't be around to give a shit about anything after.
[ He leans down, then, to take his dagger back from her — to grab it from her, maybe with more force than necessary, but, fuck it. It's his. He's allowed. And then he stalks back around her, kicks at the hole they've dug out together. Making it progressively bigger, his body in between her and the bell — he'll be heading out soon; sooner than she can grab her bow, at least.
He should probably regret telling her to be more like him if she wants to keep on surviving — she is, ultimately, the enemy, with convictions as strong as his, and this is potentially ceding an advantage he has over her.
But fuck it — he likes her well enough that he doesn't want her to go out stupidly, even if they have very different views of what that entails, so it's worth the risk. ]
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In Amos' absence, Hayame can't help but let her grip on stoicism slip. She's been growing weaker ever since she'd awoken, and though the makeshift splint had slowed the process... when not being watched, she slumps more downwards, relying on hands in the dirt to keep her human-looking half upright. For a moment... she closes her eye, and everything is dark. She doesn't know how long it takes for Amos to return.
But he does. It had been a mistake to slip, she realizes it then, because she cannot reassemble her show of strength as firmly once she has. Her gaze is more out of focus, her skin paler, her spine more bent, the gradually pooling blood wider than when he'd left. ... She's listening though, as he recounts... his kills? At first, she doesn't understand why, but when she does...
Ah. Another one to tell her she needs to change. He and Set could pat themselves on the backs over it. "Honor"- at least, the version she had been taught, had been the only thing that kept her from having the arms flensed from her shoulders, that kept her from being treated like an animal, that kept her sane, pretending she might one day achieve the best a jinba raised for auction could obtain. And they just wanted her to throw it away.
If none of it mattered... Why didn't she just lay down and die right here? Ask him to shatter her shard, because she'd tried to crush it in Horos but every time she'd attempted it she'd gotten so physically ill she couldn't complete the motion. People want her to live, they want her to die, and all she wanted...
Hayame's fingers manage to reach her quiver, to pull an arrow from it... and curl it back close to her body. Just in case. She isn't interested in trying to argue like this. Honestly, she's never seen much use in arguing with this man- that was part of why they... got along. Part of why she did not hate him as passionately as she did other Zenites. Maybe a mistake. ... But it's one that in the context of the Oracle she still has the possibility to correct. So until then...
She swallows dry, her fingers as tight as she can manage on her arrow shaft. Her mind reaching out for the nearest Meridian, the nearest healer... and she doesn't speak up again until the hole is wide enough, until it is time for him to walk out of her unscathed with the prize she had hoped to win for Meridian.]
... Goodbye, Amos Burton.
[For now.]