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

[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. ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco does not enjoy the sensation of being touched, phantom or not. In fact, his head whipped around, to examine what he could only imagine was there. The touch of another person, something Silco very nearly entirely eschewed when he was not eating these days — the very notable exception being either Sebastian or Set if the need arose — but there was nothing there.

His lips peeled back from his teeth into a grimace, and he stared for a long moment before he turned his head back toward Gen, and the way he flinched. Silco was still not visible, he would know if that dropped, so he must be seeing what Silco cannot. Whatever it is that —

The voice is sweet, and Silco almost tried to throw himself out from the contact with the... thing. Whatever it is. He doesn't want it, he doesn't want to touch it or be touched by it, and wants nothing to do with whatever... sadness Gen is dealing with. After all, does it compare to losing the person who should have never left... leaving twice over? (Silco, of course, lacks all self-awareness, and the longer he is in Kenos, and the longer he remains like this, the longer he is away from the things that subjugate and ground them, the less he looks to other people for support. The less he looks to people like Gen as allies, and sees them as roadblocks to the one thing he wants. Which is an end to this world and the rest of them, so he can see the thing he fights for quicker.)

This is getting out of hand, whatever it is that holds them here, and whatever it is lingering around them. Silco moves again, this time to get out from in front of Gen, because, well, he has sat in front of him (invisibly) and he hasn't reacted to him. Not really. Oh, sure, he seemed to recognize movement, but... well.

He does not intend to let Gen leave here. Not without paying. After all, Silco has not forgotten what Gen did, turning his desk over. Never would, actually. Silco would never forget, and Gen? Made an enemy of a guy who developed a superpowered drug in a world with no superpowers just to get revenge on his ex-best friend. He will hold a grudge for an eternity.

He will try to sate that odd new vampiric hunger, especially with someone who'd wronged him like Gen did. The attack? He would have eventually set aside, but Jinx's cup? That was more important. (Yes, a cup. Look. It's sentimental.) He's already written Gen into his little book of revenge targets, and with him so... unseeing — vulnerable —

Silco will not let this go to waste.

He starts to lean in, though he does not actually touch Gen until his fangs try to sink into his shoulder. ]

[epiprocta]

[ It feels a bit like being dragged slowly, slowly, from the depths of a cold, deep and terribly dark lake.

Gen couldn't even begin to verbalize what had overtaken him the moment he'd opened that door. He'd had his doubts, of course, the moment he recognized that door for what it was -- the paper sliding door of a closet, complete with a hole at a perfect height for a child to look through while kneeling. He hasn't spent over a year dealing with fantasy bullshit without learning nothing, and so he'd been fully prepared for some sort of ambush the moment it opened. If some monster emerged, he was ready to fight.

Instead, what had awaited him was more akin to a void -- a crushing level of heartbreak, heavy enough to wipe all coherent thought from his brain. The entire time he'd knelt there, barely responsive to Silco's approach, his mind had been trapped deep in a maelstrom of vivid memories and emotions. Potent reminders of the misery he'd endured back in his hometown, what had turned him into such a detestable creature, what needs to be destroyed. Reality had melted away into just so much vague static, his senses fizzling away, and if Silco had left him alone, he truly would have knelt there along indefinitely, trapped in his own thoughts.

He isn't even aware at first what's dragged him back to reality.

Gen shivers first, which Silco might simply mistake for a physiological reaction to the sink of fangs into his flesh. The pump of his blood is rich and fast, youthful vitality making up for a few days of poor eating and his general lack of self-care; the sensation of losing blood is something he's familiar with, but even that cold pull at his veins feels like it's coming from far away. But Gen's next breath does come as something shuddering, then the next one comes faster -- the following one, a hard gasp. ]

Ah --

[ His body feels heavy. His mind still feels disconnected from his nerves. He shivers again, then flinches -- blearily trying to pull away from whatever's prickling at his shoulder, then tensing when he realizes it's not letting him go so easily. ]

-- what ...

[ Of course, he promptly tries to pry off whatever it is that's latched onto(?) him -- but his movements are still clumsy, his fingertips numb. It's hard getting a proper grip on Silco's clothes, even when he gropes backward, seeking purchase. Trying to understand what's going on. ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco has, for the most part, stuck with drinking fake blood from Sebastian. It does what it needs to, in a purely utilitarian sense, but it is at its core: constructed. What little other blood he has gotten has been from Ryad, or from other sources in Kowloon. He has not experienced the sheer vitality that comes from someone of Gen's youth.

It makes him stronger, and faster, and as Gen starts to come to, Silco has only a few options available to him. After all, Gen will try to kill him again, and he is not interested in another... outright fight with a fellow Zenite, despite what he promised. Oh, he talks the big talk, but Silco is not a fighter, even with his increased strength and speed. It makes him more dangerous — hopefully moreso than Gen will anticipate this time around — but as soon as Gen starts to stir, Silco starts to move.

He may be clumsy, trying to feel backward, but Silco is quick to let go and move several steps back. He pulled his knife free again — it's blood-spattered from plenty of use — and held it in his single hand. ]

That seemed to wake you up.

[ He lies. As if that was his intent the entire time. Blood-spattered knife, punctures, all of it is simply an attempt to rouse an "ally" from his malaise.

Well, the lie is worth a shot, and it's the best kind. Intention without saying a word. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Silco disengages and stumbles away, and Gen gives a startled grunt as his fingers lose their purchase on the folds of Silco's clothes. There's a prickle at his throat? Something that feels vaguely familiar, though he can't quite pinpoint what it is just yet? Ah -- it's at the tip of his tongue, though, he knows it's a sensation he's felt before.

Gen's movements are stilted as he gropes at the ground, clearly struggling to pull his thoughts back together. It still feels like a part of his mind is trapped in the depths of the hallucination that door had shown him, and he feels oddly disconnected from his nerves.

Given those circumstances, maybe it's impressive that he still somehow manages to fix a glare on Silco, who he recognizes out of sheer spite. ]

-- you. [ He tries to reach a hand to his belt, where his mace is holstered, but his balance is still off and his fingertips are numb. All Gen manages to do is almost unbalance himself, and he ends up sagging heavily, trying to prop himself up on that hand instead. ] Like hell you'd try to help me. What the hell did you do ...

[ And only then, as he blearily touches a hand to that prickly spot at his throat and realizes that his fingertips come away damp with blood, Gen manages to connect the dots. Ah. This sensation is familiar because it's the one he'd pursued plenty of times before at Bloody Marie's. Because of it, he can't help sounding openly confused and incredulous when he looks from his blood-flecked fingertips, up to Silco. ]

-- did you fucking bite me?!

[zauneyete]

[ Curses. ]

[ Silco wonders if there is a way out of this that begins and ends with a lie that holds, but after a moment of careful calculation (something he had not used even moments ago) his eyes looked to the side, before he shrugged. The signs were all there, after all. Gen's neck was bleeding — albeit closer to the back, as if Silco had been trying to avoid touching him as much as he could — and there was the fact that both of his eyes were red in this moment, the lingering flash of bloodlust not-yet dead from both of his eyes. One looked to have barely changed, flecks of blood-red in a wash of molten hot lava, set against a void like that of the dark itself. The other, though, was normally pale. Blue. It was not right now.

So he gestured with his knife, idly. ]

You seemed to be down for the count.

[ He said simply. ] If you were, it was better to use what you had left for Zenith's advantage.

[ Well. That sure was a reasoning.

Silco's lips tightened into a too-tight flash of a smile. ] You didn't even react, boy. What was I supposed to do? Leave you be to rot here on the spot?