THE SOOT OF IGNORANCE: RISING ACTION

[beleos]

BETWEEN UNCONTROLLED ESCALATION & UNENDING PASSIVITY

The moonlit city of Highstorm has always been a tranquil location.

Its people, passionate about the steady leadership of Zenith's leader — Lady Yima — begin their movements slowly and deliberately. Following the lead of their most trusted Shard-Bearers and the word of their Lady, activity in Highstorm begins to increase in the vicinity of Yima's Manor. The Court, the town square outside of it, becomes a hotbed of bustle and voices. Personnel and attendants rush around with documentation, stirring others to action. A select few figures gather the full force of their long-standing houses, calling on family bonds and their own castellans to assist the efforts that build over the course of a few days.

For the tranquility of Highstorm is only ever punctuated by its decisiveness, its faith that their path is the correct one — and now, they will prove it.

In a trickle-down effort, from the most loyal Zenites to the newest, the news unfolds for them: Amos Burton has been tasked by Lady Yima herself to turn the tides back in Zenith's favor. He is to end the life of the 34th Tribune, Cyrus Marcius Germanus Kokkinos, alongside the fortune who have found their way into Zenith's graces. In the earliest hours of the invasion, the figure of Yima herself steps out onto the balcony of her quarters — the highest point of the Manor — with her robes soft around her body and hands extended to her people. Her silence is punctuated by glowing feelings of pride that flow through the hearts and minds of every last sworn Zenite, bolstering their resolve and encouraging them with the cool, ever-flowing might of the people who look to Zenith's Shard-Bearers for their victory.

She sees them off with unspoken sentiments of love, confidence in them — the whispered promises that she knows they are ready to see the war through. And perhaps none of them will know that it is the last time they see her.

For in the sun-dappled sprawl of Springstar, their target awaits them.

The bustle of the city has always been without reservation; the bright and airy attitudes of militant citizenry look on with confidence and celebratory warmth as their Shard-Bearers have brought them to a marginal advancement over their enemies. While Tribune Cyrus's popularity has waned, there are alternative avenues they have begun to explore — the figure of Agapitos Voreen has become deeply popular, with savvy statements, an easy confidence and a willingness to deny Zenith any room to breathe, he is a shoe-in for future Tribune, whenever the next elections are held.

Which is why, in between one moment and the next, the city is rocked by the efforts of their opposition. Zenite-aligned Shard-Bearers and the small house armies of Yima's most loyal core families fill the streets with chaotic distractions, ranging from duels with the Helios Legionnaire to direct attacks on civilians. ( Where does your character draw the line, if they care to? Will it matter in the long run, do they believe? ) Appearing from several Cornerstones hidden within the city's confines from missions long past, tracking the movements of Legionnaires and Shard-Bearers alike from the placement of listening gems and tracking spells, even rising from the bowels of Kowloon to trap the city in a pincer movement — Highstorm goes on the offensive.

Springstar puts up a valiant resistance in return; however, within twenty-four hours, Zenite Shard-Bearers will have hunted down, cornered and slain the Tribune. In that moment, Meridian-aligned Shard-Bearers will feel a splitting pain: the suddenness of having an integral element of their power ripped from them, the sensation akin to being crushed, gasping under the weight of Zenith's swell. The last trickle of emotion from Cyrus for them is a gentle warmth, fondness and forgiveness and the purity of his confidence in them. He believes in them, he always has, and he prays and hopes for their victory even though he will not be around to see it become reality, now.

His death is announced the following day by his assistant Cetina, the deer-morph girl choking back angry tears as she — with a furious and tearful General Ayo Zaman and the somber, mournful figure of Hieropoios Natalia at her side — lambasts Highstorm for the act of aggression, attempts to rouse the city and Meridian's hope, and pledges that she will not let her best friend's murderers escape her vengeance.

Hours after Cetina's message, in the far corner of Highstorm — following the people's celebrations and rejoicing in their strike, the delight in the might of their Shard-Bearers and the renewed passions of their people in pursuit of their victory — a brilliant, golden beam of sunlight pierces the eternal night of the city.

In an instant, the balcony upon which Yima had stood and the rooms beyond it — in fact, the entirety of the Manor, is engulfed in fire and light. The Manor falls, crumbling in upon itself as debris cascades into the living quarters of Shard-bearers and partially topples into the Court beyond. While the Tree of Life, the Reflecting Pools and many businesses around the Court escape extensive damage, the Manor itself is in shambles. And in the wake, many Zenite Shard-Bearers will feel the suddenness of having an integral element of their power ripped from them, the sensation akin to being crushed, gasping under the weight of Meridian's swell. In the wake of the strike, there is a deep silence within them.

Any attempts to contact Yima are met with the same silence a Shard-Bearer feels when reaching out to another who has left the world entirely. And with that, both sides are left to pick up the pieces and weigh the consequences of their actions.

ADDITIONAL MATTERS

During ( and in the wake of both assaults ), there is plenty for any Unharmonized Shard-Bearers and more moderate Meris/Zenites to partake in. Damage has been wrought to both cities at differing times, and there is a degree of life lost no matter the best efforts of those who value innocents over the price enacted by acts of war.

In Springstar, the citizenry has been ravaged by attacks stemming from the depths of Kowloon: as monsters in the form of both individuals with unusual appetites (cannibals and vampires, for example) and heavily-drugged, superpowered addicts have been finding their way into the city, slaughtering civilians indiscreetly, picking fights with the Legionary, and engaging in general criminal mischief and violence. Following Zenith's assault and subsequent assassination, the city will be on high alert and be deeply hostile toward Zenith-aligned Shard-Bearers, as well as mistrustful towards any Unharmonized ( for good reason: they might still Harmonize with Zenith! ). After the day of the attack, the attacks drop off significantly, but do not vanish entirely, for now that some have gotten a taste, it will take time for Yura to reign them in once more.

The people of the city turn to their Shard-Bearers in the wake of their Tribune's murder; even though his popularity had waned, it isn't as though his death doesn't affect them! Deeply concerned and frightened for their future, they demand information about what will be done to protect the city from another assault like this? Some civilians will turn to the church, or perhaps community leaders, but it seems very few turn to the legionary, after they were so focused on the attacks that they missed the forest for the trees. Their trust in their military leaders is waning, and they’re looking for answer. Some community leaders have tried to soften the hurt and anger of Springstar’s people, but they look toward those whom were not a part of the current establishment to answers.

In Highstorm, Yima's Manor lays in shambles, but the rest of the city is unharmed. Shard-Bearers who were living in the Manor will find that their living quarters suffered from the collapse and subsequent fires, but any precious items/belongings they had in their rooms can be recovered after sifting through the rubble. One of Yima’s most trusted, Florence, seems to be taking the reigns of control, and while there are still pockets of the manor that remain on the outskirts of the building itself, she encourages any Zenites who had not moved out to move on quickly, since what is left should be used by any newcomers who need shelter, and not those whom have had the opportunity to make bonds, and have allies that they can rely on.

The main issue now plaguing Zenites is the sudden, overwhelming crowd that begins to gather in the Court, demanding information from them about Yima's safety — they are frantic, and rightfully concerned about further assaults of that incendiary degree from Meridian. The city will be on high alert and be deeply hostile toward Meridian-aligned Shard-Bearers, as well as mistrustful towards any Unharmonized ( for good reason: they might still Harmonize with Meridian! ). The Manor itself is almost entirely destroyed, with only a shell of the outskirts left, and though those who are left are already trying to sift through the rubble, they are often overcome by their sorrow, and it is not uncommon in the wake of Meridian’s destruction to find some of Yima’s most loyal in distress, for the loss of their leader.

A LIGHTHOUSE AGAINST THE ENCROACHING STORM

A few months ago, all current Shard-Bearers experienced a mass dreaming event, full of teeming darkness and a pervasive sense of terror. Following the death of Cyrus and the "presumed loss" of Yima, all Shard-Bearers will receive yet another dream.

This one is a simple, direct thing: rife with a haunting sense of being watched, observed as if from the reeds and brush by a hunter. Whatever your power level, however skilled you are and confident you are in your place, your decisions, your heart will quake before the severe impression of something prowling at your heels. Just out of sight, but never out of mind. Every Shard-Bearer's shard will wrench free of their body upon waking, falling from their physical form as if to flee this sensation of something waiting, patient, for the right moment to pounce.

Echoing in the back of their mind, a wordless, shapeless promise lingers: Forward, or back. Back, or forward. Dart and weave, flit and flutter, scamper and scurry. We are here, now. In the back of every mind, what was in the process of coming before is — it is here, now. Looming right above, waiting for the outcome, watching for which way the last lives at the end of existence will flee.

Upon awakening from the mass dream-become-nightmare, Shard-bearers will slowly become aware of the exacerbation of previous events that have been persisting since October. These events are no longer subtle, and will impact everyone regardless of faction allegiance, with purposefully targeted strikes:

— Darkness has spread within Springstar. Wherever there is shadow cast by person, object or building, it has deepened, darkened, and grown in size. Walking through any shadowed area or touching a darkened shadow will fill a Shard-bearer who enters that area with feelings of dread, of something lingering just out of sight, of danger prickling along their spine, and entice them to run and flee. If they are not quick enough, an unseen entity savages them — aiming directly for wherever their Shard is hidden and held. They are being hunted.

— Light has spread within Highstorm. Starlight and moonlight seem to sear what they touch, leaving patches of bleached-white scars upon person, object or building. Being touched by the light or coming into contact with a white-scarred entity will fill a Shard-bearer with feelings of malaise, like they should simply lay down and accept what comes next. Suffocating hands waiting to pin them down. Even in the safety of the shadows, the scourging glow of any light reaches for them and rakes across their bodies, seeking the place where their Shard is hidden or held. Ravaging them with hot-and-cold burns. They are being sacrificed.

— Shard-bearers readily become lost in familiar places, as if their homes and bastions of safety and security have become strange ( estranged? ) from their minds. The route to that favorite haunt ( perhaps even their own place of business ) eludes them, and searching for it alone becomes an impossibility. It takes another Shard-bearer, at times, to aid them in breaking free of the mild befuddlement. You're just tired. It's just the strain getting to you.

— Citizens of both Springstar and Highstorm continue to speak about neighbors who have 'suddenly moved away', or the disappearance of a favored shop or cafe. Some mention favorite, useful landmarks vanishing, causing them to forget where they are coming from, or where they are going. When directly asked about this circumstance, they shrug and declare that it happens all the time these days. In fact, there's nothing to really be done about it. And if pressed, the citizenry's eyes go glassy and expressions become confused as they ask who, what, where, and why their Shard-Bearer has begun asking them such strange questions. None seem bothered by this strange occurrence, as if all is well and normal.

— Shard-bearers will begin to see familiar faces in crowds, standing on street corners, peering through their private windows, waving them down at their familiar haunts. People from their own worlds, loved and hated alike rush for them — adoring and hostile alike. Family members and friends who seem to attempt to meet their eyes before the crowd swallows them up; loved ones who should be captured in Shards try to flag them down, calling their names and asking them where have you been? what's going on?; enemies and abusers seem to advance upon them, pushing their way forth hungrily. And then they are gone, but not before leaving behind the impression, the strange sensation that, they are real. Really there. If only for a moment.

OOC & (IMMEDIATE) WORLD CHANGES

The full document for this event can be found here!

So, what does the world look like now that this has all gone down?

The world of Kenos ripples from the effects of our players!

Springstar is (mostly) physically unharmed, though the population has been reduced thanks to the number of murders and criminal mischief that has taken place during the attack. Damage seems constrained to things like broken doors and windows, looted property, and murdered civilians, though the severity is up to how many defend Springstar from the concentrated might of Ryad’s regulars, and a practical army of addicts rising from the depths below the city.

The leadership of Springstar is also shaken, though there are procedures in place for this – if one is particularly studious, they will recall that this is not the first Tribune that has been assassinated, though it is the first in a long while – and the Church and the Legionary have stepped in to maintain the peace while elections begin to be arranged.

Cyrus’s body is interred publically at the Church in Heliopolis for a week after his passing, before his body is immolated during a service, his soul returned to the Tree of Life. Those who attend will feel the light of Meridian fill them, and their Discord may be reduced by one level thanks to the warm hope that fills them, even as they despair at the loss of their leadership. Meridian calls to its most loyal, and asks them to do what they do best, show hope and unending resolve, when things look to be their most hopeless.

Highstorm is another story. The destruction wrought is more property, but the number of people who were within the manor is difficult to count until a week or two after the destruction has been evaluated, and cleanup has begun. The loss of life is not devastating compared to what was leveled upon Springstar, but perhaps the most distressing is that Yima is not present. Florence reassures those in Highstorm with her calming, but firm presence.

With few of Yima’s softer adorations to be found, Florence instead pushes the faithful to muster their will and begin the recovery efforts. After all, they have long proven to have faith in Yima’s guidance, and they should believe in it now when it is difficult. It is not the first time their fortitude has been tested, after all.

Her words fill those in Zenith with a sense of calm resolve, and they may feel their distress and discord from this destruction alleviating slightly. Highstorm’s government works smoothly without Yima, and those who are interested in history will be able to see Florence’s name throughout the annals, as one that would guide Yima’s faithful when the matron was in convalescence, or respite. What Zenith does best, after all, is build something new when faced with destruction. Consider this a primer for your new world, to help bring the faithful back from the brink of their despair.

The unharmonized have a choice, as they so often do. This time, however, the stakes appear even higher than before. The cities are not as welcoming as they once were, and those that have not chosen are beseeched by the civilians of both Highstorm and Springstar. ‘Do you not understand what they’ve taken from us, and what they will in days to come? You cannot let this continue, standing on the sidelines. Imagine the ways in which you could help us,’ they beg, and it feels as though your neutrality will become increasingly inconvenient, as time goes on.

What can we expect next?

As the month of Pelu ( aka March ) dawns, you will begin to feel it. Something tugs at you.

Those who have lived through more than one will feel that anticipatory anxiety rise, as the next oracle is coming. Are you ready to fight to claim it, even when it feels so dark, and even when everything feels different, and harder? Do you look to the stars, and dream of your home? Or do you gaze outward, into nothing, and dream of what you will make from the ashes?

Anticipate the oracle in the coming month of Pelu, and to learn more about those that will step into the voids left by Cyrus and Yima.

And as always!

Questions can be directed here!

Individuals less-inclined to busy themselves with either effort, or looking for a way to gain a foothold/explore the world can report here for exploration attempts. We recommend examining the Kenos Wiki's Locations for ideas, if you don't know where to start. Or! Ask someone in the Discord Server for a recommendation, we have long-time players eager to help.

Lastly, remember that Cyrus and Yima will be a little occupied this time around, but anyone who might ICly have reason to contact them regarding the brewing troubles can do so here!

CODING

Comments

set ( meridian, savant )

[redsoil]

— IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.

[ What he knows of the oncoming battle is little, a testament to the effective planning and rapid mobilization of the Zenites.

Set has sunk himself into work in the Beyond for weeks, months on end, and so his awareness of the general atmosphere surrounding him is shallow, at best. He half-expects it, though. Either a Zenite attack, or an internal move within Springstar's governance; no matter how hard he and Akua worked in his defense, Cyrus's rule had been doomed since the first Shard-Bearer arrived, taken a look at his smiling face and slandered him as false, sly, a liar. The Meridian ranks had never rallied behind him, not in the way Zenith looked to Yima — and that was, as he understood it, the price of those who truly embodied change.

When the rumbles of the assault first reach him, he leaves his temple deep in the Beyond and lurches into Springstar with wrath in his eyes and determination in the savage, bared snarl upon his teeth. His leniency for Zenith has dwindled, as the rise of the worst of them has led him to disavow their desire. It cannot be allowed to stand: the lackluster, shallow existence of the Zenite Shard-Bearers and the matron they pledge to. They must be made to change.

I. COUNTER ( ASSIST ). But first, he makes to defend his home.

The first thing he does is to head for the Church of Helios. Word of their Archon's arrival begins to stir the people who have fled for sanctuary, the people that he begins to shepherd and herd towards the doors of the grand structure, calling out to them: It will not fall, Heliopolis stands eternal! in encouragement. Upon spotting any of his allies, he strikes them with a mental burst of Communion to gain their attention — the kestrel-call of a hunting bird that has spotted prey from above, the bay of a hound that seeks to alert its company of its findings. ]

Watch your back! Bring them toward the Church or send them inside, they will be safer there than in the streets!

[ He urges, as he lashes out at monsters and beasts alike. Blood splashes up his limbs, over his bare chest and face as he crushes his opposition with perfunctory precision; he grapples and bites, slices and shoots with weapons formed from sands, elegant and deadly as he attempts to reach any Meridian-aligned Shard-Bearer and seize their wrist in his hand. Assisting them, devoted to their support, no matter if they are ideologically opposed or unhappy with one another. ]

They are after something, they have to be. This is like the Oracle, but to a different degree.

[ II. CONTROL ( PVP ). He works hard to save his own, and harder still to route Zenites.

Set halts in the roads, in alleys and stooped upon rooftops upon spotting any known-Zenites, his bared teeth morphing into a mocking smile as he takes them in: ] I recommend rethinking every moment that led you here.

[ There is no doubt that he doesn't care if the Zenite in question is hindering, or helping. Set drags his dark mask down across his face, flicks a wrist and extends an equally dark sceptre into his hand and without a care as to protest, he lunges forth with murderous intent. There's no doubt he intends to brutalize and dissipate any opponent in his way, from here on out. ]

In fact, I demand that you submit now. Those you have injured and abused will judge you for your sins.

— TO THE BREAK OF DAWN.

[ Cyrus dies, despite it all.

The pang of mourning he feels is pushed aside, as Set returns to the Beyond. Alongside a select few who he takes within him — those he needs to fuel the weapon. He can hem and haw over it all he wants, but in the end, there is no time for a test run: it must be used. Some part of him relishes that it is as he wanted it to be, a precision strike in response to piss-poor Zenite decisions. Let them understand that they caused this, he thinks, let them rue that their own choices are did this to them. And then there is light, burning Meridian and divine energy that bursts from the depths of the Beyond and tears through Yima's Manor. Tears through her, he intends.

And in the wake of it, he immediately takes up the next position that he must: that of the villain, the madman. In Communion, as he enters Highstorm loudly and boldly.

I. COMMUNION ( OTA ). [ The sensation of Set rises within all whom receive the alarming contact. He allows himself to be seen, a man of red, streaked with blood — standing atop the burning wreckage of Yima's Manor. He envisions himself reaching down into the rubble, and lifting up the battered, starlit robe that adorned Yima's form. Holding it high above his head like a flag he intends to mount as a trophy, a sneer building on his face. ]

You should have stuck to losing Oracles, Zenith. Now, you solidify your place as true failures.

Dominated in ideology. Incapable of protecting your precious ones. Bereft of a leader who is not readily replaced.

— you may thank me for showing you the error of your ways.

[ And though it is only metaphorical, only within Communion, he touches Yima's robe to his mouth — and as he does, it begins to fade into motes of starry sands. Eroding before the minds of all, as he opens his arms and commands the blame focus on him. ( Fellow Savants will know it is true: this brash act, is both him at his most true, and him as an act. Part of him feels miserably, and part of him is prepared to shoulder this burden. ) ]

When I find her body, I will be sure to let you keep it. I only want her head after all, ahaha!

II. CIRCUMVENT. [ Set takes flight across Highstorm, openly.

There is reason to his show of victorious sauntering; the cavorting madness that overtakes him is a calculated effort to protect the rest of Meridian. To focus ire upon him, to make him into the true evil within Meridian. ( He mourns, somber and pained within his heart, as he dodges wrathful citizens and alights upon rooftops with the intent to be spotted, to flee. It will take some effort to capture him, but by the way he flags and falters, he might not have intentions to escape too quickly. )

He is aiming to reach the Cornerstone in the city, because in the end, he doesn't want to be destroyed. Dissipation would certainly, at this point, lead to it. For that reason, he relies heavily on his spellwork and trickery. A combination of Major Image, Mold Earth, and Harmonization ability of Corruption, are his main tools of the trade, alongside that horrible mouth of his. ( Any Zenite who wants a nice reason/push towards deeper Harmonization can look no further, he'll definitely serve as a natural #reason to hate on Meridian. More than that, any Meri looking to escape suspicion and/or get some brownie points with Zenites can build off his obvious show of villainy! ) ]

— OOC.

[ Set's plotting comment is here, and I'll have some closed starters for specific plans below! ]

ATSUMU | HAMSTER BALL TIME

[redsoil]

[ — it doesn't matter that Atsumu is one of the younger Zenites, really.

He is there, in Springstar, and he needs to be stopped. Once, Set had offered him a golden bauble; a gift for a young man he had looked to, both compassionate and lost in his own way, an Unharmonized soul who wanted a small statuette so badly, because he had just lost everything. And now, he pursues that same youth without mercy. Talking about the Olympics was a matter of the past, because the moment he had seen the youth in the city, he was functionally the enemy.

Friendly or not, young or not, he is an obstacle to be removed, and Set has never pulled his punches. ]

— so, they made something monstrous of you, [ he laughs, mean and snarling as he descends from a rooftop. A blade in his hand that scythes in a downward sweep towards the teen. There's no mercy in it, Set fully intends to carve Atsumu from stem to stern if he can land a blow. He's a Zenite, a rival and enemy. There's no room or reason to look at things like "age" or "ability" in war, that's just practical. Anyone who chooses an active role ought to know the consequences that will be visited upon them. The judgement, the pain, the risk. ]

Some friends you chose to follow! Do you enjoy hurting innocents now, Atsumu? Does it make you proud, to offer your support and efforts to this?

[settingup]

[ The first time he'd met Set had resulted in a chase too, hadn't it? Though given the circumstances of their meeting and the emotional and physical shape that Set was in at the time, it had been easy for Atsumu to weave his way through the crowds and out of Set's line of vision. The funny thing was that he hadn't even been trying to escape from Set at the time. He'd been intending to sell that golden bauble in order to get Set the statuette he was looking at. It was just that by the time he'd gotten back Set had been gone.

This chase was a lot more dramatic, a lot more frantic, and Atsumu curses to himself as he uses well timed blasts of wind to shove himself out of the reach of Set's swings as the blade slashes towards him. Had it only been the regular soldiers that he'd promised Amos to distract away from Cyrus.

In a way it might be better that he's luring away the attention of a god right now, but god it sure as hell doesn't feel lucky as he continues to just barely manage to dodge blows that are definitely intended to kill him. His jaw clenches at the insults and the questions. They're valid ones, and Atsumu's not thrilled about any of this. He doesn't love the way that the distraction is playing out, or what some of his fellow Zenites thing is necessary to do, but it's not like he wants them to get hurt for their questionable choices. ]

Ain't all of the guys on your side the ones always yammerin' on about how this is a war?

[ Set included, even if he hadn't been the one to give Atsumu the longest speech about it. ]

Why are you goin' and gettin' preachy about it now?

GEN | A GUARDIAN, A TYRANT

[redsoil]

[ In the wreckage of the Manor, Set stands. The Communion message lingering between all Shard-Bearers as he awaits the repercussions of his actions; outside of the mind, his expression is somber, severe, like he is truly considering what has just happened and what it means to have done it. What it will mean for his tenuous relationships with his precious few Zenite companions, the ones he has fought whole of heart to remain important to, a path for. This destruction was targeted, and robbing them of their Lady might be enough to stir their hearts.

Which is why, when he hears the shuffle of debris behind him, he doesn't quite turn before he speaks the name: ] Gen.

[ It has to be him. It's always him, lingering and angry, distraught and so very, very lost.

Until this point, he has come to him to purge his Discord. To gently stroke through his hair and breathe in the scent of his bitter cigarettes, thumbs seeking the join of prosthetic limb and flesh to soothe the ache from carrying around the equipment all day long. Warming his bed, warming him, attending to his faith in their promise. He adores him so much, this terrible, rotten boy who wants to die, who could be anything or nothing and he would be,

so very loved, by Set.

When he turns, he smiles. Small and apologetic, for him alone. ]

Am I the best choice for you, yet? Have you come to see the lengths I will go, to prove to you how much more I want to be here for you than anyone else ever could?

[epiprocta]

[ Cyrus is dead. It's good. Meridian has suffered a grand loss, and it brings Zenith one step closer to victory. It's a good thing. (Gen tries not to think of the look Cyrus had given him before dying. Tries not to think of blood.) But Gen hadn't joined in on any of the celebratory festivities. Feeling oddly exhausted and drained, Gen had simply retired to his room upon returning and slept the hours away, wrapped up in a cocoon of his blankets -- like every time Set ever found him to help dispell his Discord.

Too bad what finds him this time is no wargod, but a blinding spear of light.

The Communion warning from Ruby had jolted him out of his sleep mere moments before impact; it had been just enough time to rip him to his senses. One, two seconds were all it had taken for Gen to vault across his room, ripping out the entire drawer of his most precious belongings (a small box containing a frail shard, two cartons of cigarettes, a gold wristband -- ) and clutch it to his chest. On the third second he'd simply plunged downward, phasing through the floor below him, then below him again, diving straight down until he was cradled in the darkness of the ground below. Where that shard would be safe.

Even there, deep within the earth, the rumble of the manor crumbling and the roar of the flames is violent enough to shake him to his core. Gen weathers the collapse with that little drawer clutched to his chest, hiding like a child afraid of a thunderstorm -- afraid for that shard, more than anything else, as he listens to the world collapse above him.

His precious cargo is left buried deep, when he finally emerges into the smouldering ruins of the manor. Barefoot, empty-handed. Dressed in the sort of light, casual clothes that make it clear he's been caught completely off-guard, ripped out of his sleep into this chaos. The pressure of Zenith's loss weighs heavy on his shoulders, almost doubling him over, and his gait is unsteady when he stumbles forth, aimless and -- as Set would put it -- oh, so very lost.

He doesn't even know how to respond at first when he realizes who he's looking at. That challenging Communion heard amidst the sounds of the manor burning above him come to mind, though the word feel like they're ringing hollow from somewhere very far away. Gen gives a shuddering exhale, fingers twitching at his side like he wants to make a fist but can't muster the strength to just yet; his voice is low when he finally manages to rasp out -- ]

So you did this? [ He doesn't really give a shit about the manor. Doesn't even really care about Yima, not on a personal basis. But this loss is still catastrophic for him. What Set did here, what Set endangered, is unforgiveable in his eyes. ] ... did you expect me to fucking thank you for it?

chuuni onee-san

[muchalucha]

[ Set’s weapon is the perfect demonstration of Meridian, in a way. It’s something that’s the effort of many people, many worlds, and Quetzalcoatl is only one piece of it. However, she’s a big piece. Even as a Servant and one without a Master, Quetzalcoatl is a Divine Spirit. She’d taken in all the mana she could* with short notice, but this is still something she’d been expecting. She’d been working with all the mages (or whatever they liked to call themselves) preparing for whenever this moment came.

Because if what Set built is like a gun, then she’s providing at least part of the bullet. ]

The past is here. The present is here. The future is here!

[ It’s the incantation that releases her greatest of powers, and by the first stanza alone, the magical energy that swells around her is intense. It’s a swirl of wind and raw heat as she calls her divine wind and lightning to her (Come wind, come lightning!), and the space over the shrine fills with golden light that bears the pattern of her sunstone. It’s why she had been so insistent on erecting her temple in the first place, because the stone itself was the seat of her power and her ability to unleash this even in her diminished form. It’s been absorbing all the energy she can muster, and as Quetzalcoatl looks up at the golden emblem above her to raise a hand, she can only hope it’s been enough.

The golden emblem turns to what looks like a portal that lightning streaks out of dangerously, yet none of it touches any onlooker. It’s as if even that chaos was an extension of her will. And from it, a small ball of fire descends, but it hurts the eyes to look at directly. It’s like a tiny sun, and Quetzalcoatl grips it in her hand like it’s nothing. ]

When the morning star shines, let all know the Sun’s light reaches every corner of the Earth!

[ That tiny, dense sun is put in the “barrel” of this great weapon, and her words are the trigger. It’s only a moment that she holds it before unleashing it, because she looks at Set first and gives him a loving smile. She’s truly not sure if unleashing this is something her body will survive, but she doesn’t mind it. She’s a great god of the Azteca—What is she if not ready to lay her life down to serve the people? ]

Piedra del Sol!!

[ And all of it works.

The magic that’s been worked on to combine the expertises of all involved, the power of Meridian, the raw power of the sun that she’s given it—It tears through the air with the crack of a sonic boom. Light and fire fill the dark night of Highstorm, and a path is carved out from the tops of the trees that are left crackling with immediate fire in its wake. It’s an incredible sight and sensation, a bomb forced into a bullet, and it hits its target perfectly. For the first time in perhaps its entire existence, the light of the sun reaches Highstorm, and it carves its path of destruction.

That light makes her smile in a little relief, because she’s just proud of the work put into all of this, purpose aside… But Quetzalcoatl immediately collapses. She’s fired off almost all the magical energy she has at Yima’s manor, and though she has enough to keep her body together, some parts disappear. Her headdress, the armor, her jewelry, it all fades into the motes of light that she’s made of. ]

you should have just linked her np vs. tiamat

[redsoil]

[ — don't look at me, not like that.

The words spring to his lips, unbidden and wrenchingly sick from his heart outward, as Quetzalcoatl smiles at him moments before unleashing herself upon the target painstakingly decided upon. Since hours before, he has felt the gnawing thing in his stomach ( something, somewhere between hunger and grief — ), and it only builds as she looks upon him. Loving. Faithful. A goddess of humanity through and through, who had made such promises to him that no other ever had.

He could tell the mortals he'd grown attached to that he loved them. That he'd chosen the most difficult of them to love, because nobody else would ever do that without caveat or falsity. But, even to her, right now? He cannot stomach the thought of telling her that he does love her, he admires her, he envies her, he wishes — sometimes, in the quiet hours of Springstar's eternal day, that he could have been made to be a god like her. But, he wasn't. That was not his role, nor destiny.

Instead, he uses her up for ammunition, and catches her weakened body as she collapses — light scattering from her body, evidence of how far she'd pushed herself. Set doesn't even know if she's going to survive this, let alone... let alone if she'll recover. The dread simmering in his throat, in this very moment, feels like the same dread he'd felt for months on end. Since rivals had begun to speak up for Cyrus's position, and nothing had been done to save him. ( The least Set could do, he'd told him once, was avenge him thoroughly. ) Now, he cradles Queztalcoatl's figure in his arms, and folds down to his knees to better support her weight.

One hand finds its way into the thick, lion's mane of golden waves. And he crushes her face to his throat and collarbone, silent and trembling. Holding it together for her.

]

Aa em pet ta er netjeru, ankh per em akhet, Quetzalcoatl. How bad is it?

hello insanity, it's me, ya boy; wildcard

[damnpire]

[Cyrus is dead.

A hauntingly dark figure cuts an imposing image inside the Church, standing near the body silently and somberly. It's not a place he ever thought he'd find himself standing, even though he had heeded all the talk if dissatisfaction with Cyrus. It's not a time he thought he would ever see either.

D isn't wearing the hat, not indoors, not at a funeral viewing. He's respectful. The quiet, grim expression on his face can be seen as clear as day; the dark lashes are downturned. He isn't the only one here, but he is one of the most prominent ones by aesthetic alone.

Many people give him some berth, the young, pale man who looks like a god of death waiting to cart Cyrus's body away once it's all said and done. But D doesn't move for a long time. People come and go, and he remains peering at Cyrus from the shadows of the gilded Church, just out of the touch of the light.]

8)))

[redsoil]

I somehow knew we would end up here.

[ Though D stands close by, Set's words seem to be for the quiet figure of the Tribune, instead. The way he sweeps into the room, eyes somber and dark, to lay a hand upon the man's brow and sweep fingers through his hair. It feels like true failure, to have worked hard — and been so alone in those efforts.

The god of war bends over him, hand sliding to cover the closed eyes, and presses a small, chaste kiss to the back of that hand. When he straightens, his attention finally fixates upon D. Hard and sparking with anger: no, with grief. The grief of a god is their wrath, their single-minded recognition that something of theirs has been taken and that no matter how many people could empathize with that... only divine pain mattered.

For it would last, and outlive. ]

— he reminded me of Horus.

[ His stupid, stupidly warm nephew whom had tried again and again to reach for Set. To win, but not at the cost of his safety or dignity. ]

I thought, I might take him home with us, Anubis. When all was said and done and there was no need for him to be Tribune.

communion (with slight wildcard flair don't @ me)

[furibund]

[ Aside from what is needed, she stays in Springstar. Some yet twisted part of her laughs at the very act. It had been a lifetime ago she could tear apart the guts of the galaxy without looking back — it was this her now that knew she could do that because if she had looked back, if she had lingered... She would have hesitated. ]

[ There is no further act on Highstorm. No need of it. ]

[ She stays, then, in Springstar. Where wives cry for their husbands, where men struggling to stand, and where the children are orphaned in abundance - if they'd survived the onslaught at all. The onslaught that lingers long after the announcement, showing the truer cruelty of the matter. Zenites, who claim to want to create a better world, have no mercies - urge attacks on those who cannot defend themselves without care. ]

[ She thinks to herself that if one of them come before her, gloat even for a moment at their success, she might not hesitate to crush their shard in her hand. Of course, she tucks that side away. ]

[ What comes next they deserve. Their lady Yima and her household; It is no doubt this was her demand and a part of her - that savage, bitter twisted thing that lingers - has no care what happens to her. Played whatever her part may be and stayed in Springstar, where she begrudgingly takes the responsibility of leading, rebuilding, and caring for what she could. ]

[ She does not miss the communion that Set sends out - like the scorching heat of a day in the desert. It itches and claws and she's reminded of a hopeless desert planet and how she hated it. This Communion is not for her; It's a mockery, a calling. For the Zenites who would say they were the worst of it - for a home that wasn't really a home. ]

[ For a while, she discards it, handles the children that have latched themselves to her side and only when they seem to feel content, safe does she think about that uncomfortable heat, of the feeling of sand that gets into prosthetics and gears and make her want to scream. ]

[ Only then does she reach out, dropping without waiting: ]

You are a fool with a death wish.

[ It's gravelly, low. The fire that's constant melting into indomitable snow - snow that vibrates with an emotion she dare not name: (furious) concern. ]

GOBBLES THIS UP

[redsoil]

[ The harsh, even cruel, call that he puts forth to all is for multiple ends: to draw attention from other Meridian ( to guard their identities and presence from being known in association with the light that split the darkness ), and to call to arms the ranks of Zenith. Too long have they followed their leader, put aside the shape of their future in favor of hers — trusted in something they thought eternal, like the worlds they had once come from, maybe?

Nebula's voice is unlike anything he's heard before; her presence a spider dropping from the wall, untethered and descending upon prey that awaits her heedlessly. She calls him "fool", refers to his words as "death wish" and he cannot help but throw his head back in that moment and laugh — mockery gone, and something wild in his throat instead.

He rubs his hands over his face before her, as if to rid himself of invisible tears ( or rub in the heat that lingers in the belly of Yima's Manor, the raw sunlight that his desert embraces and gleams below ). ]

Not really, no. I have someone waiting for me, after all.

[ Back home, in Egypt. ]

I want them to be better than they were, is all. Fighting for a goal is good, but theirs was going to be in the shape she created it. So many said they would allow her to decide — and that was unforgivable.

dawn, i (also private)

[cutlery]

How did I know this was you.

[ Sebastian’s tone is flat and not at all fitting to the situation… This is more the sort of tone he would have taken when scolding other servants in the manner for their truly remarkable incompetence. It’s the tone of a man who is not at all surprised at the proceedings and is also resigned to having to do the hard work to clean up the aftermath.

The attack itself? He doesn’t care about that. The weapon itself is worthy of adulation, and he already has his little seed of doubt thanks to Set. So, if Yima is dead, all the better, in his sour opinion at the moment.

…And of course. This is all while Sebastian is on the hunt for Quetzalcoatl. ]

PRIVATE.

[redsoil]

[ What a rhetorical question!

Why would it be anyone OTHER than Set? ( And several other Meris who will remain anonymous, or at least protected by his brassy declaration of ownership. )

While Sebastian prowls in the wake of Quetzalcoatl, Set lords it up in Highstorm. He's in full, theatrical blossom — rivaling Raphael, even — and does not hesitate to maintain their connection as a private one. For now. ]

Honestly, while the act is mine, I must say that this would not have been possible without yours and Amos Burton's help.

[ what ]

communion but with a ✨twist✨ | private

[escardos]

[ cyrus has died and pandemonium has broken out in springstar. a massacre of lives of all kinds, young and old and everything else in between. it’s a genuine war, a world away from the holy grail war that flat had been a part of until recently.

from the start, the concept of communion had been an interesting one to the mage. it’s not as if he were ignorant of how telepathy works, but this goes far beyond that. feelings that he doesn’t recognize as his own are as strong as the ones that are, and thoughts are as visible in his mind’s eye as his own thoughts and memories. for someone as naturally curious as flat escardos, something like this was downright fascinating.

and so, within the communion created by the fellow savant and meridian, flat sees set in the back of his mind, bright and arid like the desert, contrasting with the darkness spreading through springstar…

and the darkness that comes with communing with flat escardos. unlike the shadows that roam across the city, flat’s mental space is closer to the void of space, emotionless and empty— perhaps lonely, even. ]

That was an incredible act! Seriously! It sent shivers down my spine and everything!

[ despite the situation, flat has enough awareness and ability to focus on keeping it private. he’s shuffling through the city, looking for survivors to protect, while also trying not to become fodder himself. and while there is exhaustion creeping into the edges of his voice, he, too has his own honest act to keep. set can probably see the smile fixed on his face. ]

But will you actually be okay? Declaring yourself the ultimate final boss is fine and all, but what’s gonna happen when challengers start appearing?

here he is.... LA CREATURA :void:

[redsoil]

[ Despite his adoration for curious minds and inquisitive individuals, Set does his best not to dive too deeply among his fellows within his Aspect. They can see too much, slip beyond the masks that he wears should they choose to and find the true depths of him — the storm of emotion, the sensitivity he shields with callous attitude and mockery. For a god that stands above mortality, his mind is both inhuman and human, without any sort of hypocrisy or clashing of those sides.

So, when the void comes crawling in to share that endless desert, the dark ocean of divinity beyond its borderless sands — for a moment, he nearly backhands Flat like an unwanted interloper. He thinks him someone else, shockingly enough. Someone else who embodies the cold emptiness of space, whom fills him with loathing and vague feelings of disappointment. But, Flat is not Amos, and Set pulls his strike upon recognizing it. It leaves him with the impression of his hand cocked, but his expression a little confused.

How can someone like that be someone like him? ]

— I, [ he recovers, lowering his hand to flick the ends of his hair aside. A careless, lazy little gesture. ] Defeat them, of course. Or outmaneuver them. What is important is that they know where to look, if they shamelessly decide not to blame themselves for what happened.

[ It's obvious he wholeheartedly believes what he's saying! ]

It is not as though I am unfamiliar with this role.

regretfully, i wildcard

[semicharmed]

[ Well, Liem said Matt should reach out of he needed help. To him specifically. And so--exhausted, full of regret, with the blood washed off his face and hands but stubbornly staining his one good shirt in spots--he'd appeared at Liem's door, clutching his worldly goods in a robe.

And Liem let him stay the night, bless him. Matt has no idea what he's going to do next. Yelling at Lady Yima doesn't seem feasible at this point, and probably wouldn't have been productive. Crawling back to Amos feels impossible. Running away to Alenroux forever is tempting, but he can't run away and leave things as they are. The way they're going. So first order of business is to get a good daylight's sleep.

... Actually, the very first order of business is to cry. Matt figured that'd be coming any day now, but it still surprises him when he closes the door on the empty guest room and immediately just fucking loses it. It feels like he's crying for everyone he's ever met, everyone in the history of the world. His big sister, his academic adviser, his favorite barista. All the children in Springstar, Sebastian and Quetzalcoatl, Amos. He cries until he feels hollow.

It's been years since he had a total breakdown, so he's forgotten how physically exhausting it is to weep like this. It's a great tactic for falling asleep, actually. So despite the miserable rollercoaster recent days have been, as dreadfully uncertain as the future is, the sleep he sinks into is sudden and deep. ]

sadly, bullies matt

[redsoil]

[ — sometimes, Set knocks on the door of Liem's house. Sometimes, he slips in through the smallest of seams between doorways and windows ( left alone, unblocked, because whom else could reach Liem through them but a god who was, simultaneously, a man and infinite grains of sand, slipping single-file through a miniscule gap? ). During the day, he knocks. During the "night", he sneaks in. But, it's never on schedule. Especially not tonight, so far into the month — because holy shit this takes place at the END of the month — and following his demise.

( He had not expected to be blindsided so heartily by Amos Burton, and as much as he loathed that man, he had to respect his ability. Had to concede his loss. Surviving was only due to a precarious, precious relationship he'd clung to determinedly. )

When he arrives at Liem's home, he slips in through the cracks in the window. Filtering through grain-by-grain until there is a sizeable, soft heap of sands below the sill, and from there he begins to creep. Hand over hand, body elongating by finger, knuckle, palm, wrist, forearm, elbow, bicep, shoulder, the dip of his bare spine and the flow of his hair sliding across the ground like fucking sadako of the ring infamy anyways!!! He can smell the salt of tears, of wet cheeks and the scent of a man that —

Well, he's never met Matt in person. But, he's a foreign scent in an environment he comes to often enough, and it's enough to drive him a little mad, wanting to see Liem as badly as he does, and coming across some other person. Set slips across the floor, hands rising to the end of the bed as he leverages himself up, depressing the mattress a little. In the dark, he seems to shine with an inner heat, the ends of his hair molten with red-gold sunlight, heat pouring off of him like the sun at its apex in a ruthless desert, with no shade or oasis in sight. Between locks of red hair, equally red eyes glow. A little hostile, a little accusing.

And he grabs Matt's ankle, hauling him down the length of the bed to the end with a tired, animal noise. ] — you. Glad to see me NOW?

[ ignore him matt he's 3x as insane as when he first came to kenos and just recently came back ( wrong ) from being temporarily dead ]

assist

[wolfish]

On our way.

[ The tug at his mind is a welcome one, for Yuri is herding a good half-dozen children of varying ages, crowded around and behind him as he seeks defensible ground. When the chaos had erupted, his first inclination was to make for the orphanage, knowing full well the children there would be defenseless. Many had fled with their caretakers by the time he'd arrived, but a few had not, either too terrified or physically unable to leave.

When Yuri and his young squadron come into Set's line of sight, Yuri has one very small child on his shoulders, another clinging to him like a koala from the front. It leaves him with one free arm, slinging wind spells at pursuers in messy haste. His magic seizes monsters and tosses them about with the savage abandon one would expect of a tornado in miniature, and he cares nothing for the state they're in when they drop. ]

Come on, almost there—

[ Yuri couldn't say whose benefit the words are for. Perhaps the kids. Perhaps himself. Perhaps it's a little bit of both as he trudges his way along, avoiding active skirmishes in a stalwart march toward the church. There's a certain irony to it all — back home, he'd have done much the same thing, had Garreg Mach not been a monastery itself. But the church had given shelter to many orphans, as had Abyss. It's familiar, in that way.

Though he can't say the goddess had appeared to cut down foes (he still doesn't know about Sothis, oops) the way Set's so handily doing. He trusts the church is indeed the safest place to take these kids, if he can just get past the fray with his pack. ]

[redsoil]

[ Briefly, Set's mouth turns down into an inscrutable frown, upon seeing Yuri leading the gaggle of children through the streets as beasts and addicts pour forth with the intent to slaughter anyone who crosses their path. He has a difficult relationship with kids, to say the least, but pausing his assault is not part of who he is. Momentum drives him forward, dark blades spiraling forth from dark sands into his own palms — he swings with blinding speed and force.

One of the lunging beasts is carved in two, and both halves collide at great force and speed with a building wall, detonating in a shower of blood and debris as Set continues onward. Brutal and elegant, darting and weaving through everything in his way to clear a path from Church steps to the awaiting Meridian and children. He slides into a spot alongside Yuri quietly, sleek and slick with blood; his dark masks obscures his eyes, hides his true emotions and expressions, but he cants his chin in the direction he'd come and says, firm: ] You will make it.

[ He'll see it done. ]

Yuri would never lie to you, and you will be safe.

[ The winds remind him, in a way, of his falcon-headed nephew. That idiot. ]

Keep pushing, Yuri. Tell me what else you have seen on your way, too. What news?

dawn i; (communion/ota)

[wolof]

[ Pointedly not private: }

Monologuing, dear? There are rules about that, you know.

Besides, I think a few of us would take offense that it was just you. Though I would certainly call you the orchestrator of our violence.

[ It is light, and teasing, but the heat of Akua's desert sands and uncooling twilight comes with a flicker of amusement. Like a mirage when it feels too hot, and too overpowering. ]

[redsoil]

I think I am due at least ONE monologue for this, Akua.

[ She stands with him, without prompting. In the privacy where their minds directly join, he slips his hand down her arm and hooks his fingers with hers. Squeezing down against her, in gratitude and affirmation. Anyone who wants to own up to their part can, but he stood forth as burning bright and nasty as he could because,

he was the dark shadow within Meridian. The shade in which others could hide and shelter, including Zenites. ]

Well, it was helpful to have a creatoress of mass casualty in my corner, to formulate the actual process to with. Your experience was elucidating, and ensured my ideal was applicable to Kenos's parameters.

Dawn II

[sterngaze]

[He comes upon Set in the chaos after the strike against the Manor. With much of Highstorm swarming around the Court to provide aid, now proves an opportune time for Liem to move through Highstorm unnoticed. He has one last task that he must complete here, and can think of no better time to attempt it.

In the interests of subtlety, Liem does not wear his own face as he hurries along the snow-covered streets, heading north towards Greenwood Yards. The gem in his pocket needs to go somewhere important, and since the Court is swarming with people at present, this seems the optimal time to stash the spell focus on the other end of Highstorm entirely: amidst its precious greenhouses, where pieces of those worlds they left behind still grow.

But he senses Set’s approach like the breath of wind heralding a storm, and when he ducks into an alley most of the way there, he emerges from its confines onto an overlooking rooftop—and he emerges with his own face. Though he catches sight of the god, it is communion that he calls out with, full of agitation.]

Set. What are you doing?

[redsoil]

[ After issuing his declaration, Set did not linger for long at the Manor. Fleeing through the city to stir the hornet's nest was his next move, in the hopes of drawing as much attention to himself to allow Meridian to move freely and hide their awareness or participation in the event. To hear Liem's voice slip through Communion, as he nears the Greenwood Yards ( his place of work, which he thinks now will never let him back in no matter how helpful he was to their crops — ) gives him pause.

He collides with a rooftop near to Liem's position with a crunch of stone and metal, claws shrieking as he skims to a stop and plants his feet, raining minor destruction down upon the streets. Masked as he is, the full bloom of his divinity blazes around him, and he perches on the rooftop across from Liem, ducking low against the elegant stonework to hiss privately between their minds. ]

Did you want your presence exposed in relation to this, Liem? I am making sure they know "who to blame", so the others will escape direct retaliation. I do not want anything like what happened to Hayame or the Zenite shards to happen to our own, or our sunbeams.

dawn i, communion

[diegeticmusic]

[Grace is still unharmonized, but before all the chaos she'd settled on staying in Highstorm. She isn't sure why, exactly, but it just... feels right. Like a tug on her soul telling her where she should be.

Which is why she's here when the assassination occurs, and why she's here when Yima's manor is blow apart.

The vengeful feel of Set when he opens communion catches Grace's breath, but as a Savant she can feel all the truth in all his posturing - the misery, the resignation. He's turning himself into a villain.]

Is this really the role you want? Drawing all of Highstorm's hate to yourself?

AMOS | (a track from the twilight soundtrack is playing in the background)

[redsoil]

— Amos Burton.

[ The impact of Set's arrival rattles the ground, as he collides with the side of one of Highstorm's buildings and slides down, down the length of it. Claws at his fingertips and toes slowing his descent, before he hops off the wall and lands, nimble and elegant, upon the ground. Wearing his divine mask, his expressions are difficult to parse — until, he simply takes it off, dusting it into fine grains of black sand that spin and whirl away in the cold air. They'll return to his form, momentarily.

It leaves his face visible, his expression oddly composed, calm. Not an inch of the usual show of madness and cruelty he portrays himself as being naught-but. ]

Congratulations. Allow me to commend you for your tactics and decisions. I still think you do not deserve to exist, but I do appreciate that Zenith actually has someone willing to go the distance for it.

[ Weirdly, there is a growing fondness in the way he speaks to Amos for it. Like he's finally found something to enjoy about the guy, even if he's simultaneously furious that Cyrus is dead. ]