NOVEMBER EVENT | THE HARBINGER ORACLE

[beleos]

HEDGING YOUR BETS

Bearers feel it. Similar to when the Scorching Isles was opened, there is the same tug, from somewhere in the distance. Those who are in springstar feel it from closer, like a blossom of warmth in your heart, you feel the Oracle spring to life. Those in Highstorm feel it too, but distant. Far away. You remember Cyrus’s words, that it would come to life in Springstar, and you know, just from the relative distance, from how far away it feels – He was probably right.

So bearers must make their way to the center of Springstar’s residential district. Finding one’s way to Springstar will be difficult, in fact. Preparations have been underway since Cyrus’s announcement, and Springstar leaps into action. The Legionnaires are already marching by the time the first bearers start moving throughout the city. In addition to any of Meridian’s own preparations, the Legionnaires establish choke points and start organizing evacuations. It will be difficult to make your way through Springstar, but the closer bearers make it to the hedge maze, and what seems to be the oracle at the center, the warmer their chests feel. Throughout the city, it feels warm, like small wicks of heat. The closer bearers become, the more it feels like a torrent. It is burning them to their center and igniting them to their cores. Like the fire of drive, is what it feels like. Like the hunger for something more than just food, or anything else, like the anticipation of victory.

The maze itself is where it is the most intense as bearers start to make their way through the hedge maze. Vines and brambles lie within a neat hedge, and it looks like it is safe to jump, or scale, but the moment a bearer tries to jump it, cut through it, or even go beneath it, roots, brambles, and vines lash out to entrap bearers, and start to drag them down and into the hedges. You will have to figure out a way out – lest you be stuck for seemingly the near future.

Of course, when Dimitri’s hand touches the stone statue in the middle, it all goes dark, and wherever you were, whoever you were fighting –

Every bearer collapses at the same time.

YOU'D BETTER BE A-MAZE-ING!

In the dark, there is that fiery impression of the Harbinger. Competition, drive, disdain for even those that best them. It is clear, in the dark, with your eyes closed, that the Harbinger does not see the Bearers as worthy to obtain it. You feel ghostly hands on your mind, into you, as if it is delving for more, trying to pluck and pull out the right memory. It looks for victories, triumphs, defeats, or betrayals. Something that shows the mettle of the bearer, what it is looking for. When it finds what it is looking for – or is this just a dream? – after the bearer experiences the dream, they will get the distinct impression that it is not enough. That the Harbinger wants more. It wants to see what this bearer can do. It wants to see you rise to the challenge, bearer! Will you do as it wishes, and show it the scope of your mettle, or will you capitulate and let the Harbinger know that it was right – you aren’t enough?

The Harbinger wants you to prove them wrong. Can you do that? Will you use spite to convince it that it is wrong? The Harbinger at the center of this labyrinth imparts to bearers, that it will not allow the weak to succeed, that nobody who cannot reach it, would ever be able to protect them. They look down on bearers, and it is up to you, to convince them that you are worth their attention.

When bearers wake, they will be stuck in a foyer. The walls seem blank, and there is a door, leading further into the maze. It is not… fully dark, everything here seems to be lit just enough to move around without trouble, but it is not bright. Bearers can look left, and right, and see others beside them. They are not alone, but nor are they with others of their faction. No, you can feel it, between all of you, gathered here in one space. The humming of your shared aspect fills the room, as if all of you together in one space feels right.

You will not be able to stay. The foyer lasts only until the last person leaves, and if any try to stay behind and stationary, they will find that eventually a door appears, and the room begins to shrink. You had better get moving!

You must move further into the maze. You will find that grouping up for long periods of time becomes impossible, and moving from one door to the next can find foes, allies, or even neutral parties. Every door you open within this maze, leads to new and unusual locations. You may both walk in, from opposite ends, only to find that the doors are gone when you turn your back. Do you end up on a precarious path over spikes, lava, or even water? Do you walk into a room with your greatest desire, a hunger that can now never be sated? Will you do anything to find your way through the corridors? Will bearers help each other, and resist the call of the Harbinger, or will you push over even your treasured ones to win?

MADE IN THE SHADE

And even further in, as you start to catch sight of them, patches of darkness seep into the corners, into everything. They may be hidden, at first. They may lurk underneath patches of leaves, or in shadowed corners. But the longer bearers are within this labyrinth, the longer the shadows seem. They start to reach out, to pull bearers into their shadowy depths. You may feel malaise, or an unwillingness to continue, once you first step within these patches. The longer you are there, the harder it is to get out. You will need help from your friends or dear ones, or sheer strength of will – but can you fight on, as you start to lose the things that motivate you?

And then there are the visions. People you know, love, or trust, they round corners, just ahead. They seem just out of range, and at first, it is difficult to tell if they are there or not. But they happen to reappear, and then disappear around a corner. Try and chase them, if you dare. When your fingers touch their arm, or grab their clothing, or heaven forbid, if you pull them into a hug – it seems impossible to pull away. They were treasured, weren’t they? There is a reason they appear here, to you. Why would you want to pull them away? Why would you –

They reach out, their fingers seem long, as they reach toward your shard – they will not be deterred by clothing or armor, their fingers seem to bend and twist around the junctions – before they find purchase on your shard. They rip it from you, and it feels like you are being separated from something. It’s painful, it hurts, but the last thing you see, as they hold your shard in your hand, is someone you care very deeply for, placing the shard in the same place on their own body, and your own face smiles back at you, and it all goes black. You are gone. Into… nothing.

NOTES

Here are some prompts to set the scene and foundation of the Exalt Oracle! Please refer to the ooc post for more details about what’s happening in the labyrinth! Feel free to direct questions here.

If your character gets killed by a shadow-copy, please let us know in the reporting post that goes up on November 20th if they touch the effigy. If they do not, please let us know on the deaths page! Don't forget to report any dissipations as a whole! Please also let us know if your character is saved by another bearer, or if your character’s shard is taken by the shadow copy for the entire duration of the event. This will not result in any permadeath, but you might get some cool lore! Teehee! If your character defeats a shadow creature, please let us know [HERE]

Comments

closed starters.

[epiprocta]

► gavial

[epiprocta]

[ He can't even bring himself to feel excited about finding another door, at this point. Because after slogging through too many endless hallways and fighting through bullshit traps -- he just knows that this next door will probably just be more of the same. Though not making his way through this place also isn't an option, so ... ugh. Ugh.

He hates it here. But also, like hell he's going to just sit still and let Zenith lose this battle without a fight.

Standing before another door he's found down some dark, dimly-lit hallway -- one he'd traversed down on purpose, hoping that heading towards the less-appealing path would get him somewhere -- Gen takes a deep breath. Flexes his hands, makes sure he's ready, then kicks it open in one swift move. Even as the door swings open before him, Gen remains standing firmly outside the threshold of the room for a nice, long moment, squinting into the room to first make sure it's not some big dumb pit that he'll have to climb out of again.

Probably a good thing that there's something in the room he can easily recognize even from his vantage point outside the room. It only takes a moment of cautious squinting before Gen notices the sharp lash of something long, green and scaly -- a reptilian tail he definitely recognizes. ]

-- hey. [ Is Gavial in any state to recognize the Perro-ish young man from before? Regardless of what the answer might be, here he is, cautiously stepping into the room as he tries to get a better grasp on whatever fresh hell he's going to have to contend with in this room. Ah, what was her name again -- ] Gavial?

[kinaesthesia]

[From the moment she woke up down here in this labyrinth with the others, Gavial has been fielding the persistent need for further victory like a song stuck in her head for too long. The itch to seek it out spurred her along these winding halls, into increasingly ridiculous rooms with increasingly ridiculous gimmicks to them. But they’re all still stuck down here, chasing the dangling carrot of a meaningful win with nothing concrete to show for their efforts thus far.

Because of it, there’s been a steady annoyance building over the course of who-knows-how-many days, souring her mood bit by bit. How she wins things isn’t through puzzles and trickery, in subterfuge and clever games. Give her something she can swing her fist at or tear through with her axe and she’ll stand victorious in no time. But there hasn’t been a whole lot of opportunity for that here yet, not unless she wants to risk things getting messy by throwing down with someone next chance she gets. And she would be lying if she didn’t say that she’s beginning to find that to be an increasingly enticing plan.

So she doesn’t think too much of it when she steps into yet another mysterious room and that urge just seems to skyrocket.

By the time the door swings open and a familiar young man stands peering into the room, Gavial’s made a mess of it. It’s almost like the place had been purposely filled with things just begging to be broken—scattered fragments of porcelain decorate the floor, various types of furniture rent into pieces, perhaps something almost oddly human-shaped slumped in one corner. It had all been an outlet for this frustrating need, but it wasn’t quite enough. This was all the equivalent of just empty calories, all the motion and bluster but none of the satisfaction of a challenge, of something fighting back. But—

Her gaze turns to the doorway, watching as Gen takes a halting step into the room with her. Knuckles torn and bloody, she reaches down to wrench her staff free from where it is lodged in a wooden panel of something that may have once been a dresser. She motions with it to the room at large.]

Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in.

[Guess the room of hunger really does deliver, doesn’t it?]

[epiprocta]

[ Gen, meanwhile, glances around as he takes stock of the state of the room -- and breathes a short, little huff. Not quite a sigh of relief.

Why wouldn't he? As far as he can tell, it's just a bunch of junk in the room. And if any of it ever posed a problem, then Gavial's seemingly already taken care of it.

It's not like he knows a lot about Gavial, but he knows enough about her to take stock of the situation, he thinks. Gavial knows some level of medical healing magic bullshit, but that doesn't make her some waifish, wispy little healer girl; that fight with a Discord-addled Link had been brief, but more than enough for him to take stock of her abilities. And if that wasn't enough, there's the state of the room. Gen casually kicks shattered remains of porcelain jars and bits of fractured wood out of the way as he slinks across the room, closer to where Gavial wrenches her staff free of some shattered piece of furniture. ]

Guess you already took care of this place, huh. [ It's a rather large piece of wrecked furniture that blocks his way neck, maybe what used to be a chest of drawers. Briefly, Gen thinks to himself -- Gavial really is way scarier than she looks, huh -- before stepping around it. ] Looks like you had one hell of a time, though.

[ He'd reflexively drawn his mace from where it sits holstered at his belt, and Gen idly bounces it against his shoulder as he crosses the last few steps to approach where Gavial is. His posture is relaxed and easy, and despite the drawn weapon, he's clearly assuming that he's speaking to an ally that he has no reason to be on-guard around. Why would he think otherwise? ]

So s'there something else to take care of before we can get outta here?

[ His pointy canine ears flick in thought as he looks to her. That's why she's still here, right? Because she's not finished solving some dumb puzzle yet? ]

[kinaesthesia]

[If this has been some kind of vague puzzle, it’s starting to feel like the missing piece is sliding into place now.

No one has ever accused Gavial of taking a lot of time to think things through. She’s known for being brash, rushing into things the moment she sees an opportunity to barrel into a situation and solve things her way. Maybe, sometimes, people had been right to criticize her for it. But it had always felt like the right answer to her, and this right here? The path of destruction she’s haphazardly left around this room? That felt right too. Scratched an itch that so badly needed a little relief, but it hasn’t quite gone away. In fact, it only feels like its grown in severity.

One foot is planted on top of the wrecked dresser and she leans forward to rest an elbow on the that raised knee, watching Gen’s approach with a steady gaze. His question, at first, gets a question of her own.]

You ever just have the need to blow off some steam? Something about the place was just begging me trash it… Didn’t quite give me what I want, though.

[Gavial only knows so much about what Gen himself is capable of. She got a glimpse of it that day in Springstar, saw those Arts he seemed capable of. Helped patch him up enough to know that he’s pretty good at taking a beating too. And you know what? That’s good enough for her.]

So you’re right. There’s something else I need here. Been looking for something.

[He gets an easy smile from her, but there’s a sharp glint to her eyes that makes for a fitting companion to the slow, predatory sway of her tail behind her.]

Think I might’ve found it. You game?

[epiprocta]

[ Because Gen is a shitty teenager, Gavial's question only earns a grunt and a little half-shrug of the shoulders at first. Of course, the truth is that he totally gets it -- violence had often been his go-to method of venting some stress back home, too. He hadn't had the resources or ability to do anything on the level of what Gavial's accomplished here, but he'd broken some shit and gotten into plenty of fights. Gen knows how it feels when your blood's boiling hot in your veins, and it feels like the only way to vent some of that heat is by making someone else bleed a little. (Or a lot.)

So even before Gavial actually flashes him that smile, his nerves are already pinging through with instinctive caution; his reflexes catch on before his conscious mind that Gavial's posture doesn't seem like she's ready to leave just yet. The fine hairs on his canine ears are standing on end by the time he spots the gleam of her teeth, and Gen narrows his eyes.

His own smile in return is a touch more thin-lipped, even if he stands his ground, refusing to back away or show any sign of hesitation. ]

Y'know, I think we're supposed to be fighting the Meridian. Not wastin' our time fighting with each other.

[ So he says, but his hands slowly tights around the handle of his mace until the leather creaks; his gaze scans Gavial over from head to toe, fixing briefly on the steady lash of her tail before meeting her gaze once more. Affirming to himself: oh, she's fucking serious.

An uneasy little knot of discomfort forms at the back of his throat that he swallows back, thinking back to the sheer force she'd displayed back during that fight with a Discord-addled Link. Is he really going to be able to hold up if that violence is directed his way? Only one way to find out, huh.

A deep breath before he shoots Gavial a toothy grin of his own in challenge. ]

... I ain't gonna hold back if you're serious about this, though.

[ In other words: he's ready to fight dirty. The moment she lunges at him, he's going to vanish into the dirt to reposition himself for an ambush from behind. ]

► silco

[epiprocta]

[ Is Silco having a good time in this labyrinth? Probably not, because he's Silco, and the world is always out to get him. (Hm.) But lucky for him, he's about to receive a little treat that he so deserves as a reprieve for all the suffering he endures at the hands of this cruel, cruel world.

It arrives in the form of the sound of a lock clicking open. Did Silco already try to open that door in the far corner of the room he's currently in? It didn't budge a fraction then, but now it swings open as if on greased hinges, the door bumping gently into the corner wall before swinging halfway shut once more. And while that backswing of the door means Silco might not be able to get a good look of what lays on the other side of the door from where he's standing, he might hear the rustle of fabric and the sound of something heavy thumping to the ground.

As soon as he approaches, though, he might be able to piece together what the noise was, though.

Gen kneels there before the now-open doorway, slumped against the wall beside him; the sound must have come from the impact of his knees hitting the ground. It's only a long, dark hallway that extends past him, but for whatever reason, Gen looks utterly out of it -- directing a glassy-eyed stare at some indistinct point on the floor as he kneels there, breathing in short rasps. Even the sound and movement of Silco approaching only earns a twitch and a brief glance over, gaze not quite focused, before he's sunk into his thoughts once more, hand clutching tight at the fabric of his own shirt like he's struggling just to breathe.

How odd! Better come take a better look at what's going on, huh? ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco had never felt as if the universe itself had thought to provide him with any gifts. Not given his history, his childhood, or the betrayal he'd endured at the hands of someone he'd once called a friend. There are a great many things that lead Silco to the conclusion that the world was out to get him — and it's probably not entirely unreasonable, had he not taken it to the extremes he's taken it.

Truly, he was not the Universe's punching bag as he so proclaimed, and perhaps in this moment, he feels as if he isn't.

Of all the people to walk into this room.

His surprised little bark of a laugh is... more excited than it should be. He'd promised Amos nothing, other than Gen should stay out of his way. And what happened, but he'd walked through the door, kneeling, and weak, and probably hurting from some puzzle or something. Weakened. He almost pulled a knife out from his coat, before he remembered.

There's something better, isn't there?

He vanished from thin air, and moved closer. His feet silent, he approached, before he kneeled — out of arm's reach — from Gen. Observing.

Just to make sure, of course. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Unfortunately for Silco, Gen does respond when Silco approaches.

But fortunately for him, it seems to be a response based entirely on reflex. Gen looks up sharply when he catches that sudden flicker of movement at the periphery of his vision, but the wide-eyed, bleary look he fixes on Silco -- or rather, past him, staring at some indistinct point in the middle distance -- makes it clear his mind is still a million miles away. ]

... stop.

[ Even the hoarse mumble that escapes his lips is clearly directed at someone other than Silco, someone who doesn't actually exist in the room at the moment.

And though Gen does makes some shivering attempt to move, he seems to be fighting a severe uphill battle. He shivers, hand tangled pale-knuckled into the folds of his own shirtfront, using all his strength just to buckle forth and brace himself against the ground with his other hand; just staying kneeling instead of collapsed on the floor is all he can manage, it seems. That, and mumbling feverishly under his breath, ]

Stop -- hurting him.

[zauneyete]

[ When Gen doesn't full on launch toward him, Silco very nearly becomes bold enough to start reaching for his knife, but when the boy looked up and at him — through him — it gives him pause for only a moment, before he tutted softly to himself, a soft, barely audible 'tch' escaped his lips as he watched him. You know, only two months ago, before Gen had... taken the opportunity, Silco might have been tempted to assist.

Two Zenites were better than one, after all.

But One whom was a traitor was worthless, in Silco's mind. Just leave him here to pathetically whine into the darkness, perhaps? It was tempting. Silco thought it would serve him right, to leave him here, in this dim room, and finish whatever puzzle happened, and leave, just let him cower here, talking about someone being hurt.

He slipped a knife from his coat, and held it in his free hand. Pathetic, wasn't it? That someone who had such an attachment to... someone being hurt, and he couldn't do a thing about it. How...powerless he was.

Silco waved his knife in Gen's face, just to be certain. He knew his invisibility would hold, but if Gen was particularly clever, he would use his True Sight to find Silco. He paused, and tipped his head, and waited, carefully.

Waiting for the first sign that he would recover, or not.

But once he had confirmation that the boy wouldn't react, he already knew what he would do. He could even justify it, after so long not being around other people. He was, after all a Harbinger, and victory would come at any cost. Even the cost of those whom served alongside him. And he had gone some time without blood. ]

[epiprocta]

[ It's not like Gen is completely blind to the fact that something's going on around him -- he'd reacted to that flicker of movement as Silco vanished from sight, after all, and his body reacts to the subtle signs of someone approaching with ill intent. His instincts have always been decently sharp, and he tenses at the quiet grind of shoesoles against the ground, the faint stirring in the air indicating movement, and the distinct sensation of being looked at. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, a little frisson of unease and caution stirs.

But that emotion is buried so deep under an avalanche of heartbreak and distress that they might as well not exist.

Silco draws closer, brandishing that unseen knife, and all Gen can do is curl up smaller as he ducks his head, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. The hand he has tangled into his shirtfront is gripping so hard that fabric is starting to fray, fingers clawing into the flooring so hard that there's the audible grind of his prosthetic's fingertips into the stone.

A delightful revelation for Silco that Gen looks like he definitely won't be putting up much of a fight. Although ...

As he finishes closing the distance between them, he might feel a strange sensation crawling down his spine. A gentle heat, like the press of a body against his spine, accompanied by the soft weight of arms over his shoulder. It feels a bit like he's being cradled close into the bosom of a phantom, embraced from behind, complete with soft breaths whispering past his ear. If he looks behind he won't see anything, no indication of what's causing those sensations. Instead, it's a closer look at Gen that might give him a hint.

Gen flinches sharply, shivering visibly at the same time that an unseen voice croons into his ear -- a woman's voice, syrupy soft and saccharine, that murmurs, 'You're the only one who can help us, Gen. ]

► set

[epiprocta]

[ Unfortunately, he can't just travel through the ground forever. Which really is a pity, because how useful would that be? Even setting aside the sheer speed that his ground-diving grants him, the ability to stay hidden indefinitely would open up the potential for so many different applications -- scouting, sabotage, stealth, so on and so forth.

And also, it would've helped him avoid the fate that's about to befall him.

Because as Gen wearily makes his way through Springstar -- aboveground and on foot, because his joints are creaking from the lingering pressure of spending a bit too long melded into the ground, necessiating that he actually run on his own two feet for a hot second -- he's suddenly alerted to a loud sound coming thundering down the street. Behind him. And rapidly drawing closer.

He barely has the chance to whirl around and look over, catching sight of a dark blur of movement barreling right towards him, before something catches him right in his gut and sweeps him off his feet. A year of isekai experience can't undo his basic human instincts; suddenly off-balance and assaulted by this unknown force, Gen panics just a little. A choked snarl escapes his lips as he reflexively grabs at whatever's snatched him up, fingers clawing in for purchase as he tries to avoid being flung back onto the pavement.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins is making his heart beat at subsonic speeds, and Gen's eyes are wide as he tries to get a better look at whatever the hell's come for him ... and they only widen further when he does recognize what -- or rather, who -- is behind this bullshit. ]

[redsoil]

[ The thunderous clatter of claws and wheels careens through the streets, closing in rapidly upon Minegishi Gen the moment that his presence is detected. Of all the Zenites that will be infiltrating and fighting their way into Springstar, Gen is one of the handful that had lived there for an extended period of time, and thus one of the pieces that needs to be controlled and monitored. Stopped, if need be, because he is fixated on his faction. Despondently loyal, to the idea of "the end" it can give him.

As if it is the only end he can have, abandoned and forgotten and imagining a better life for someone else. ( Not if Set has any say in it. And, in his mind, he has the only say in it. The only right to say anything of Gen. ) Rather than come down upon Gen like a murderous storm, he arrives upon a sleek vehicle drawn by a single creature — a chimeric creature with heavy, feathered wings and a crocodilian body that gallops strongly toward Gen. Dragging the tall-wheeled chariot behind it, upon which Set perches with an arm flung out and the other holding the reins; he seizes Gen around the middle within moments, dragging the teenager up against his side with easy strength.

Maskless, his hair streams and his mouth curls as Gen writhes and fights to see what the fuck is going on. He laughs, throwing his head back in wild abandon as he twists the reins and leads the beast down the streets of Springstar, in a wide circle, with no intention of taking Gen deeper into the residential district. ( Maybe he'll bring him back, after. ) ]

I was looking for you, Minegishi Gen!

[ Set's warm mouth presses to the corner of Gen's jaw, another high on his temple. A hand seizes his jaw roughly, bruising and betraying the strength that Set has. That he rarely brings to bear against Gen. ]

— and now, I have you. Mine again, in the throes of an Oracle.

[epiprocta]

[ He should have fucking known. What other psycho here would pull a stunt like this? ]

You fucking -- [ his complaint cuts off with a startled grunt when he feels that affectionate press of lips against his jaw ] -- you fucking asshole -- [ another stifled noise of protest, muffled from the way Set's fingers dig into his jaw ] -- the hell d'you think you're doing --

[ And of course, he starts fighting back the way he always does, clawing one hand at Set's forearm in an attempt to extricate his face from that painful vice grip, the other shoving roughly against Set's body to try and put some distance between them. But the chariot jolts over a bump in the road the next moment, the entire surface beneath their feet rattling from the impact, and Gen reflexively ends up stumbling back to press close up against Set once more, breaths just a notch quicker.

Could he be blamed for it? He has some familiarity with construction vehicles, but a chariot is an entirely foreign method of transport to him, and he's all too aware of the paving stones below them zipping by so quickly he can barely tell them apart. They're going fast enough he's not sure he'd be able to react quickly enough to melt into the ground before it breaks half the bones in his body.

His struggles halt for the moment as Gen grits his teeth; his pulse is racing so hard and so fast, rattling against his ribcage with a fervor that Set can maybe feel through the grip at his midriff. And as he digs his nails harder, harder into Set's forearm (equal parts in quiet protest and to anchor himself more firmly on the chariot), Gen glares back at him. ]

-- I ain't interested in wasting time with games. [ His mind goes back to a conversation held past the bars of a jail cell, in the cold and the dark. To equal mentions of a promise, and of punishment. ] If you're plannin' on taking me outta the battle early, just throw me off this cart already and get it over with.

[ It's possible isn't it? That that's the 'punishment' Set is thinking of. It'd certainly rile him up, if he didn't even get the chance to fight for Zenith before being ejected from the ring this round. ]

[redsoil]

[ The beast that drives the chariot rumbles, low and deep as a tuba, charging at full speed through the streets; people dive aside, yelps and shrieks of the odd person caught out still escaping the battleground that the residential district had become rising in the bright skies. The chariot jolts, and Set's footing is sure and experienced. He lets the vehicle jolt and jounce back and forth, and tugs Gen a little closer, as if to brace him against it. ]

Do you think I am someone who mistreats what is mine, Gen?

[ A low sound escapes him, teeth flashing as he leans in towards him. A twist of his arm and he'll attempt to whip the young man around, one hand wrapped around his wrist, swinging his form out over the ground falling away behind him — as if preparing to drop him off the back and leave him mincemeat on the road. Still, the bold, bright smile upon his face could be taken for delight, rather than bloodthirst. ( Or maybe, a bit of both. ) ]

Dropping you from here would probably kill you, and I am positioned against your end lest it be into my arms, you remember? I am here to see you treated preciously. Your punishment is not to be harmed for what you did to me, of course not.

[ The grip he has on Gen's wrist is sound, uncompromising. Set laughs, warm and adoring — ]

No, no! We are going on a date!

[ He'll waste Gen's precious time, during the beginning of this Oracle.

That is far more a punishment, than simply ending his life! ]

[epiprocta]

[ Gen wants to die. This, he's sure of -- he wants to vanish, he wants to stop existing as himself. But that doesn't mean he'll accept just any way of dying, and he also isn't immune to the very natural, very human fear of being dashed to pieces from falling onto the pavement at terrifying speeds.

Set swings him out over the border of the chariot, and Gen can't hold back the short, breathless little noise of terror that escapes from the back of his throat. His canine ears are pressed so sharply back that they're quivering, and he clutches at Set like his life depends on it.

( -- it does, in a way. Which only pisses him off more. ) ]

... s'that right?

[ The only thing louder than the rattle of wheels over the pavement and the screams of startled Springstar civilians is the thundering of his own pulse in his ears. And even as Gen breathes in short, adrenaline-fueled, rasping pants, he bares his teeth at Set in a vicious, manic grin. His own laugh is in sharp contrast to Set's -- forced instead of warm, aggressive instead of adoring -- but it is still a laugh. ]

Fine. Let's have that date, then.

[ Does he know what Set is planning? Absolutely not, he doesn't have a single clue what this nutjob is thinking. But also, he doesn't care. What matters in this moment is that Set's essentially issued him a challenge, and he's not one to back away from such a daring invitation. Whatever this 'date' is, he'll meet Set head-on and make him regret taunting him like this. It isn't just to pull further away from the edge of the chariot when Gen lunges in close to press up against Set in a confrontational pretense at affection; his voice is a low growl, throaty with equal parts aggression and 'affection.' ]

I'll make sure to give you a good time on this date, as intense as you want, and for as long as you want, Set. [ His nails dig furrows into Set's forearm from the ferocity of his grip. ] You better not half-ass it if you're the one askin' for it.

► fane

[epiprocta]

[ What the fuck does this statue even want from him?

Gen gives a sharp click of the tongue as he aims another kick at the statue; he knows his foot's just going to pass through it like it's some sort of light projection, so he doesn't feel bad at all about that attempted violence. The outstretched hand is held his way, almost mockingly persistent, and he grits his teeth as he stares down at it.

This thoughts go back to a tree, and to a dark chamber within its roots. To a dryad. To the sensation of hacking off part of his own foot. ]

... is this some stupid joke like that again ...

[ It's an irate mutter that he breathes to himself, and Gen tosses aside the little stub of the cigarette he'd been nursing on while frustratedly doing his rounds of the room. But unfortunately, no matter how many times he knocks at the wall and walks little circles around the chamber, all he can see is the statue at its center, hand extended in silent demand.

He needs to give it something, huh.

Expression scrunched up in cautious thought, Gen holds a one-man staring match with that statue for a while as he considers his options. And he's so absorbed in that line of thought that gives a jump when he suddenly hears movement coming from behind him. Did someone else end up in the room? Is there a door somewhere? His bootsoles scuff against the flooring as he whirls around, shouting, ]

-- don't let the door close!

[ Except -- was it even a door that this newcomer came through? And was that door even under their control? ]

[faceripper]

[ Of all the people to wander through the door, Fane is probably the last person that Gen would expect. After all, he looks about the least like a person as someone could get, since here in this trial where it's better to conserve his magical energy, he doesn't bother to disguise himself, nor does he wear his hood to obscure himself. There is simply a(n oddly well-dressed?) skeleton standing in the doorway staring back at Gen.

A skeleton who sighs as Gen whips around, and his tone alone gives the impression of rolling eyes that he doesn't have. Before he answers, the door snaps shut behind him, but he clearly wouldn't have held it anyways. ]

Oh, there's no reason to hold it. These damnable doors are the only way forward, so you'd just be backtracking.

[ Without any hesitation for who he's ended up in a room with, Fane steps forward, and just from the angle of his skull, it's clear that he's looking at the statue with its hand outstretched. ]

...Odd.

[ He scoffs, but he's quick to reach into his bag and pull out... A notebook? He plucks a pencil from the spine and flips it open. ]

Each room is so different from the last.

[epiprocta]

[ What the fuck.

Whatever other words might have been lingering on his tongue vanish into thin air the moment he lays upon who walks into the room because -- is that a skeleton. Is that actual walking skeleton. Isn't that shit from, like, those videogames his classmates used to talk about back when he was in elementary school. Having been ripped away from his homeworld more than a year ago, Gen had thought himself fairly inured to whatever fantasy bullshit Kenos could present him with. Evidently, he'd been wrong.

-- he snaps out of his shock at the sound of the door thumping shut and locking into place.

It's a revelation that earns a grit of the teeth and a sharp click of the tongue before he bristles at Fane, willing himself not to pay attention to the fact that he's talking to a fucking skeleton -- ]

You fucking dumbass! [ Wow, nope, it's harder than he thought. Fane might notice the way Gen's gaze keeps flicking away from his eyes, towards the chunk of vertebrae forming his neck, then the intricate formation of his hands, before sliding back up. ] Could've gotten out of this stupid room if you'd just held the door open, and now look! You gonna take responsibility for making this a bigger pain in the ass than it needed to be?

gen's continuining isekai horrorshow

[faceripper]

[ Fane would roll his eyes if he had them, because right away, he can tell that Gen is having a reaction to his appearance. He's well used to it at this point, which is why he starts: ]

Yes, yes, get the screa— [ "the screaming over with", but that's not what Gen does at all. Or, well. Not the sort that Fane expected. He makes an offended sound instead and shakes his head as he steps further into the room. ]

What, then you would backtrack? No, the only way here is forward. I'm doing you a favor, most likely. I'll take responsibility for nothing, whelp.

[ Given rudeness, Fane will dish it right back, but he's also an olde-timey fantasy lad, so his insults aren't quite as sharp... ]

Well, what have you been struggling with in here, then?

where are his sexy elf girls and witch onee-sans, this isekai sucks ass

[epiprocta]

[ Joke's on you Fane, even if Gen weren't distractingly annoyed about being stuck in this particular room, now with company, he still wouldn't have reacted with screaming. He just would have gotten mad, like he's doing now. ]

Who are you calling whelp, you fucking walking stick.

[ Still. At least Gen has some sense of proper priorities at the moment. Because even that retort is grumbled low instead of snarled in confrontational fashion -- he needs to focus on getting out of here first.

Maybe Fane can feel the way Gen's stare is fixed sharply on him as he slinks after him, stepping around him to look at him from the side. And as Gen looks Fane over with True Sight and spots that telltale glimmer of light, an idea starts to form. ]

It's that. [ Gen gestures towards the statue, directing Fane towards it. ] No other exits or anything. I already looked.

► dimitri

[epiprocta]

[ Back here again.

Gen almost -- no, he does end up hurling his mace at the closest wall when he realizes he's back in this stupid room, watching as it chips the bricks there and clatters loudly to the floor. Sure, the end solution the last time he'd gotten out of here had ended up being simple enough, but still. It's a pain in the ass. And somehow, it feels like a loss, having to give something up to this stupid, smug, shitty little statue in order to get out of the place.

His bootsoles scuff against the ground as he paces circles around that statue for what feels like hours. ... maybe it is hours? How long have they even been trapped in this stupid maze? And how much longer is this battle going to take? He'd burned through the last of his supplies the other day, and his exhaustion keeps compounding in these strange, cramped rooms, his mind too plagued by jittery, nervous energy to allow him any rest. It sucks.

And just as he's about to resign himself to dealing with this room, thinking that maybe this time the statue will just have to settle for a part of him instead of something he can steal from a Meridian --

he's alerted to the noise of movement coming from around the corner, in the direction of the door he'd come through. The same door that had slammed shut and locked itself behind him, but which seems to have seen fit to let a second person in now. In retrospect, it was a stupid move, throwing his mace. Because by the time he's snatched it back up, he's a beat too slow to hide in the ground and lay an ambush on the newcomer -- he only has enough time to whirl around to face whoever's walked into the room. ]

[hauntedking]

[Dimitri, like Gen, is worn down from days of circling in this maze. His supplies ran low and then out and he's been doing his best to keep going. But now he feels as if he's made it to the center - to where they're supposed to be. He can feel it in his bones, he thinks as he makes his way to that central chamber that contains the Oracle and it's judgement. He's tired, though. He's had to fight friends and deal with traps and more than anything he would like all of this to finally end.

Of course, it's never that easy. He has to prove himself to this Oracle and win approval for the sake of Meridian. For the sake of his own world. He can't rest. Not yet. The door slides open with a groan and then-

A familiar face. ]

Gen.

[ He sounds a touch surprised. ]

You're here.

[ He doesn't know why Gen lingers here, but... he's not sure it's for a good reason. ]

[epiprocta]

[ The reason why Gen lingers might be evident after a few more moments of looking around the room -- there seem to be no doors other than the one he'd come through, and that one's slammed heavily shut behind him, thudding into place with a note of finality. He hadn't exactly been waiting here out of choice.

Though -- a question that might be harder to answer is why Gen regards Dimitri for a moment before giving a sharp, brief bark of humorless laughter. ]

Oh, it's you.

[ Gen doesn't sound surprised. If anything, he sounds a little excited. Sure, he would have preferred someone easier to handle, maybe more of a pushover. But Dimitri is a Meridian, and one he has no qualms about hurting, and that's good enough for him.

There's the swish of the mace's heavy head through the air when Gen gives it an idle swing as a distant reminder that he holds no goodwill towards Dimitri. A statement he makes even clearer by following them up with a deadpan drone: ]

Lemme make this simple for you. Gimme a part of yourself, and we can both leave this place nice and quick, yeah?

[hauntedking]

Gen.

[ That's Dimitri's first answer. He knows the other man, knows how spiteful she is, and he certainly isn't his first choice of company. But up until now he's managed to at least try to be polite. But here they are, circling one another (metaphorically, at least) while the competition continues around them - and Dimitri certainly remembers the ambush from last time. ]

I'm not going to give you anything of mine. Especially not when you try to threaten me.

[ He's very confident in his own fighting abilities, too. And there's an idea at the back of his mind, too. ]

If you're so eager to be gone, you should have thought of giving up something of your own.