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

[semicharmed]

[ Somewhere in the back of Matt's mind, below his fight-flight-fawn-freeze, he deeply regrets using the word balance. His thoughts have evolved somewhat since then, and he's not great at expressing himself verbally to begin with. It just usually doesn't have such dramatic consequences.

It doesn't occur to him to try to clarify, now that the subject is firmly on Quetzalcoatl. His stomach lurches again, this time in fear.

He's pretty certain the energy can't be eliminated forever. That no energy can. But he's not sure enough to tell a god to their face, a being who has knowledge and sensitivity that flies right past the head of thermodynamics and all his world's scientists. And besides--believing she's out there is a nice little fairytale for him, isn't it? What he wants to think, instead of where evidence points?

Slowly, Matt shifts back, testing to see if he can put a little distance between them. (Why didn't you call for me, he can imagine Liem asking. Why doesn't he ever scream?) ]

I'm not going to fight with you, [ he says quietly. He blinks, eyes wet again--not for himself, though that would make sense. For her. ] I'm sorry for-- [ Swallow. ] For your loss.

[redsoil]

[ I'm not going to fight with you, Matt says.

The hostility in Set's face crumbles, because isn't it obvious that he's just spoiling for a fight? That he'd rather brawl with words or fists than think about what happened? About Quetzalcoatl dying, about the man now in his care — the promise he'd made to Anubis ( D, it's D........ ), about Silco's end-that-is-and-is-not. Matt's eyes are wet, and slowly, quietly — the war god's are too. Because they're not crying for themselves, it's for... it's for her. ]

— she was going to come home with me.

[ He says it, quiet and hollow and miserable. ]

She was going to choose me, help me. We never would have met if not for Oblivion and Kenos, and now we will never meet again.

[ He relinquishes all hold on Matt, and instead collapses onto one hip at the end of the bed. Head lowered and hair spilling hot and blood red across the mattress. It's such a loss, a painful loss. Both a god, and family that chose him. Matt puts some distance between them, and Set finally mumbles: ] Sorry. I'm sorry, too. For scaring you.

[ He says it for Quetzalcoatl. Nothing more. His last fucking apology to anyone in this world who dares get in his way, whether they think so or not. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Well, fuck, now Matt's crying again for real. He's always been a sympathy crier, ever since he and Katy-Rose were little kids. He just wanted to do everything with her, feel everything with her, even her little-kid sadnesses.

Matt should really find a way to turn off the part of his heart that aches to soothe people when they hurt him, betray him, scare the shit out of him. It's just that so often, they're in terrible pain themselves. Watching Set sprawled at the foot of the bed like all his strings have been cut, all his strength sapped into the earth, Matt wishes he could comfort him: hug him, stroke his hair. Touch is always more articulate for him than words, no matter how sincere or painstakingly crafted. But he doesn't think Set would appreciate it. So he refrains.

He's quiet for a long moment, sitting still, tears flowing down his cheeks. It takes awhile for his throat to come unstuck enough to say anything. ]

The first time we talked, [ he murmurs, watching Set closely in between blinks--despite the brief detente, he half-expects anything he says to set him off again. ] I didn't know the thing that killed our worlds had a name. I was barely thinking about it at all. But that--

That's what I'll fight.

[redsoil]

[ Ma'tt ( Matt ) wants to fight Oblivion itself.

This skinny little creature, who sympathy-cries and praises balance when "balance" means accepting that countless worlds are gone before they were ever meant to be. This was not an apocalypse, he and Quetzalcoatl both felt that. Believed in it, were ready to risk all for it and guide people home. Not capitalize on the back of some entity that was hungry, gobbling everything up in its wake. ]

One day, [ he says, voice a little strained. Odd, in the sense that he doesn't know how to give this knowledge a voice, what words he should use to explain what he has read of and known to be factual, inescapably true. ] One day, I will be Egypt's greatest weapon against Ra's greatest enemy: the serpent Apep, whom seeks to devour the world at every turn.

[ "One day", he says. Because it has not yet come to pass. He is young still, he has so many things left to experience. ]

Stand with Meridian, then. If you want to fight Oblivion, you need more than a single paltry world filled with leftovers. The will of the people depending on us to rekindle them so that this time, they can make a stand. So, that I may be the greatest armament in an army of infinity.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt nods slowly. "One day" doesn't strike him as particularly puzzling. Linear time is a western concept to begin with, and some mythic figures are surrounded by prophecy. But even absent all that, he wouldn't blame anybody in Set's position who felt the need to make bold statements.

It's only the last thing that makes him frown again. He can't kick a deity while he's down, and it seems like trying to articulate his suspicions draws either disdain or anger. He inhales, gentle ease. Lets it out, purging fear. ]

I want that for you, [ he says eventually. ] I really do. I just think ...

Every time these wars got fought before, they didn't work. That's what I heard. And as long as the darkness is out there, I can't believe anyone's gonna get what they want. [ A soft, tired sigh, as he watches Set carefully. Tear-stained cheeks, eyes wide and wary. ] I can't explain right now. I think opposite forces can get used to propel each other, not just tear each other down. And I can see myself joining Meridian at some point, but not ... not like this. Not with you leaning on me.

[ There's a reason Matt didn't respond to Set's apology. He has been apologized to before, only for nothing to change. This is a gentle challenge, maybe too particular to make sense to anyone but Matt: if you're sorry for scaring me, show me. ]

[redsoil]

[ Sullenly, Set lifts his head; red-rimmed eyes in smeared kohl, a frown that presses hard on a full mouth. If anything, he looks a little petulant that his pitch isn't, you know, effective. And why should it be, after dragging Matt across the bed and baring his teeth at him. After coming at him, so full of messy grief and animal fury? Maybe that's why he stays where he is, at the end of the bed, and does not advance on him further. Just looks at him between long strands of red, watchful and — listening.

Maybe not in the way an equal would listen to another, but there's enough attentiveness in there to see that he's not going to just brush aside what's being said. At the least, he can try to heed Quetzalcoatl's last words. Her hopes for him, to be kinder to mortals. It's why he doesn't apologize again, and instead sighs messily into the bedsheets, dropping his face into the mattress with a loud groan. His fingers sinking into his hair, messing it up at the sides in frustration. ]

— don't really care.

[ The words are muffled, for a moment. Then, he sits up and declares loudly, nose wrinkled as he pushes off the bed and crosses to the other side of the room; a streak of pale skin and red hair, arms crossed and face turned away. Petulant. ]

I do not really care where you go. [ Which is his way of saying that honestly, Matt can do what he wants! ] All I care about is getting what I want and surviving, one way or another. That you can guarantee. I learned of the world, to that end - I know things and I could impart my findings in summary. For instance: as these wars have been fought before, who are you to say that they didn't work? Maybe not for the ones who fought them.

[ He hears the challenge for what it is. Set looks over his shoulder, a brow arched curiously now. Matt has said his piece, Matt has drawn a line in the sand. Says the embodiment of the desert itself: ]

We have been told by a long-lived soul that there have been victors before. No ties. If all it took was one Faction winning over the other, we should not be here. But we are the sixth generation, Sessu.

[semicharmed]

[ Some of the tension slides out of Matt's shoulders when Set accepts his answer. He follows his path through the room, listening, and--Matt's just so transparent. It's clear by now when Set says something that he finds truly compelling, rather than just accepting it's what he believes. At not for the ones who fought them, his spine straightens slightly, and his eyes narrow in thought.

Right. Of course. When has war ever benefited its soldiers? Matt's hand lifts gently to his chest. For a moment, he feels less like an avatar than a battery. ]

Yeah, [ he murmurs, nodding. Sounds like the sketchy mage again. ] The way I heard it ... which was at least secondhand, maybe third ... but the theory being put forward was that one party needs total victory for the aims of Zenith or Meridian to succeed. [ So the problem is they haven't warred HARD enough yet. Convenient! ] But then I learned Zenith has one Oracle and Meridian has more. So ...

[ He shakes his head, seeming to realize he's gone off course. Committed a ghastly breach of etiquette, perhaps. ]

Um, I don't mean to get into all of this while you're--

Is this helpful for you right now?

[redsoil]

[ For a moment, Set is silent after the question.

Is it helpful? ]

It is productive. Mourning Quetzalcoatl is something I will do in my own time, after this war is over.

[ He prefers that. Lives are not forgotten by him, for his blade is the darkest, the most hated thing that lashes out at the throats and hearts of the mortal; he has killed, he has spun the wheels of the machine of war and known the carnage left in its wake. He mourns later, after. No one really wants to see a war god be impacted by the domain they embody — and Set is, perhaps, the most sensitive of war gods ever to be. Emotional to the point of madness, caught between humanity and divinity in a destructive way.

He crosses his arms around his body, and turns his head away from Matt again. ]

It does not matter how many Zenith acquire from competition. Oracles can be stolen, too. We will just take them from them by force or stealth, when necessary. What matters is why these wars were necessary, who benefits from them above all else, and —

[ Set rubs the bridge of his nose, some red hair falling across his wrist as he sniffs. Still sad, but trying not to be an utter nightmare about it. He wants Liem. The scent in the guest bedroom had drawn him in, and to find Matt here... it makes him wonder, now. Wait. ]

Oi. Why are you in Liem Talbott's home, anyways?

[semicharmed]

[ Matt nods slowly. He doesn't blame Set for distracting himself by staying busy, keeping the wheels of his mind churning. Matt does it himself, and more often than he realizes. Besides. In Set's shoes, he wouldn't really want sympathy from someone like him--a stranger. An annoying stranger, he can only presume.

The information about being able to steal Oracles is genuinely valuable, something Matt's been wondering about for weeks. Given what he was told about trying to "impress" them, maybe in addition to being stolen, they might be persuaded. Though Matt can't imagine the process would be pleasant. He's wandering down branching paths in his mind, unspooling various hypotheticals, when the question comes, surprising him into blinking. ]

Oh.

[ Well, of course Set knows Liem. They're on the same team. It makes way more sense that he'd be here to visit Liem than Matt. ]

Ah--it's a little complicated. [ He smiles, faint and sheepish, but genuine. ] Apparently a version of me from some other timeline or universe or whatever, was with some of the people here before. Liem was one of them. We connected over Communion and met up, and ... he told me I could ask him for help if I ever needed it.

I don't know if it counts as needing help exactly, but I had kind of a fight with the guy I was staying with. So Liem let me crash here.

[redsoil]

From Horos? That is the world of before which I know some hailed from. A stupid place.

[ It's a word he is loosely familiar with. A world that had impacted some of the other Shard-Bearers' views and visions, led them down paths they felt more strongly for than most new arrivals to Kenos. People like Father Paul and Childe, whom he had liked. Hythlodaeus who had been torn apart and used for parts, Silco and Sebastian and Jinx. Honestly, he hadn't thought any others affiliated with that time were left to come through; Matt, as he says, isn't quite "Matt of Horos", though.

Ironically, Set was on the TDM for AT, and as such, he feels a little hook behind his navel. A loose familiarity with a dark despair, the near-miss of losing himself to his worst parts. ( As if he isn't mastering those in Kenos, and wielding them as weapons. ) Like maybe, some day, he will also experience it. Or has experienced it. It's hard having a mind that views time as an ocean, and the tides as memory, and be as pinned in place — singular and stalled — as him. Being quasi-mortal is stifling! ]

— mm, Liem is a kind man. If he says you can be here, I will endeavor not to chase you away. Just do not knowingly hurt him, or use him for his kindness. He is dear to me.

[ Which is saying something, because Set is feeling all kinds of territorial over the priest. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's lips twitch. The way Liem tells it, Horos was a grim place, a cruel place. But "stupid" is a fine enough synonym for both those things, he supposes.

At Set's request--command? warning?--his eyes widen. ]

Oh--no, [ he holds up a hand, too uncertain for a stop sign, ] okay, I know you've got zero reason to trust me, you don't know me at all, but. [ He shakes his head. ] Never. I legitimately hope I die before doing something like that.

[ Matt feels like Liem is sort of ... maybe low-key disappointed in him? But Liem is kind. Gentle. He remembers the soft gray flutter of Communion, his fingers at the small of his back. Betraying that sort of kindness for the distant carrot of a better world--that can't be why he's here. You could never build something good off of that. ]

[redsoil]

An easy enough task, to ensure you do.

[ Which is Set's way of saying he's taking it as the sign to kill Matt before he hurts Liem. Or if he hurts him.

There's a careless savagery in the way he declares it, an easy acceptance that they're — supposedly? — in agreement over that sort of thing. Liem is someone that the god is deeply fond of, but with whom is still struggling to determine the shape and method that fondness is to be conveyed. ( Wherever said dhampir is in the house, I hope his ears are RINGING. ) To think that Liem had seen in Matt someone that had once been in Horos, only to find he was not quite the same... it's a strange thing, to Set. To be one of many iterations. ]

It must be strange. Perhaps a little difficult. [ set ] To look at strangers' faces and see them recognize you. But, not you. It must be like living with a ghost of yourself, instead of being seen and treated for who you are.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's lips twitch. He's not positive that he and Set share the same definition of "knowingly hurt." But surely it would be up to Liem to decide when he's been wronged. In any case, as long as Set doesn't smash his Shard, it'll be fine. Maybe the Tree will whisper something to him while he's sleeping. ]

Honestly? [ His smile spreads, rueful. ] Mostly it feels like I got blackout drunk and have to make amends for whatever I did. Most people have been happy to see me, at least--Mr. Silco was an exception, but allegedly he's like that with everyone. And Liem is ...

Worried about me. I think.

[ ok but liem literally told you that with his words ]

[redsoil]

[ An angry flinch travels through him, at the mention of Silco.

Right now, he's still furious at him; something precious to the man remains in his possession, hidden safely away, and it will stay there until such a time he sees fit to return it. He will, but only once he's gotten his pound of flesh for the death of not only a fellow divinity, but his FAMILY. Quetzalcoatl's ending, true and irrevocable, was beyond the pale. ]

There is and always will be only one of me, so I cannot speak to the experience nor to how it feels — but, you are you. He was himself.

[ It feels weird, to taste those words coming out of his own mouth. ]

Do not waste time living in their eyes as their memory.

[semicharmed]

[ The flinch draws a mental fuck, a ducking of his head. If Matt had space and time, he might realize he's shoved Silco and Quetzalcoatl into a drawer in his head to be examined at a safer moment. And that sometimes, the thing you're insisting on not thinking about is the very thing that leaps to your lips. But all he thinks right now is Jesus, I shouldn't have brought him up. How fucking stupid. ]

Well, gods are singular in general, is my impression. [ He means to sound gentle, but can't help sounding apologetic. ] Still, that's ... that's good advice.

I'll try to do that.

[redsoil]

[ And that is when Set gives him the pointed look. You know, the one that reads: And that is why Quetzalcoatl is gone-gone, buddy. Still, the flinch is short-lived. Something swells within his throat, but he swallows it down in favor of turning back towards the bed. Approaching it with a fluid gait, his arms still held defensive across his chest. ]

Ma'tt.

[ There's still a little lilt in his voice, when he speaks the man's name. Like he'd rather say Ma'at than "Matt". ]

What are you going to do if the answers you uncover do not support what your heart desires?

[semicharmed]

[ This time, at Set's approach, Matt doesn't tense up.

It's a good question, that much is clear from his face. It gets him in the chest. He looks up at Set, the red spill of his hair and bright of his eyes, and thinks of endless sands. ]

I'm not much good without my heart, [ he considers, a murmur. ] I guess I would hope ... that I could reconcile the answers with my convictions. Or else that I could change those answers--change the circumstances--enough to move forward.

[ Matt doesn't necessarily think that he, personally, is so worth preserving that he should shape the universe to his whims. It's what he's felt--what he's touched and spoken to--that he finds valuable. Cosmos, in the truest sense. The song of all that is. ]

[redsoil]

Then, let me warn you now.

[ Meridian, to him, is the only path forward. He had come to that conclusion long before he'd stepped deeper into its embrace, and chosen further Harmonization so that he could not renege nor forget it. A man throwing himself into the sun, to be burnt and blinded because the alternative was,

it was,

beyond madness. ]

The further you Harmonize, the less you will be "you". Your convictions will become the whim of another. In Zenith, that means Yima. I have seen visions of her — granted to me by the Tree of Life itself. One, in which she embraced an abuser of someone I know [ himself, actually :( ] and invited him into her new paradise because he freely chose to join her, and she will not discriminate to protect anyone. A second, in which she drove a king devoted to returning to his world and people to madness, until he was naught but her creature — pet and rewarded with a place at her feet.

[ He does not talk about what Meridian does to someone, the deeper one goes. But. It's a little more glaring. ]

Myself and the man who contacted his spirit believe he became the Iconoclast Oracle.

[semicharmed]

[ Softly, Matt says, ] Jesus fucking Christ.

[ Which, like. There's more to say here, the intellectual part. The philosophical framework part, like how can you have a paradise where some people aren't protected, and the practical part, like how many Zenith people know about this. But fundamentally, "Jesus fucking Christ" sums it up for him. ]

Why is she in charge of a force this big? [ he protests. He can understand some amount of transformation becoming inevitable. Mortal beings probably shouldn't be tasked with creating new worlds or reshaping old ones, so they may need to evolve to be equal to the work. But who died and made Yima queen of the pantheon? (Did someone literally die.) As Matt chases these thoughts down, spinning them towards gauzy and tentative hypotheses, another thought strikes him. ] What will Meridian do to me, if I join?

[redsoil]

She was the first to ever arrive in Kenos, as we understand it. Judging by the culture of Springstar and the ruined temple of my sister found in the Beyond — she may hail from the same world as I and others. A "different version".

[ He scoffs the last words; to Set, such things don't exist. Alternate lives, alternate selves — they're impossible for a god. To his knowledge, he is singular and omnipresent, the entire summation of his existence living itself out from beginning to end in moments and memories, like the waves of an eternal ocean lapping upon the shore. ]

She has always ruled Zenith. For a faction that touts the rule if "change", they are quite sedentary. Hence, one of the reasons why I shot her with my gun.

[ 8) ]

Meridian, from what I have seen, drives us twofold: passion and madness, both. The sun is a beacon of both creation and a murderous eye, after all. Zenith will enforce tranquility with its power, Meridian will enforce restlessness.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's most recent bout of tears have yet to dry. But Set's remark about shooting Yima doesn't prompt so much as a tremor. Matt feels a little like a bad person for not worrying about her, wondering where she is. But he can't help but feel that whatever comes next, it'll be easier without Yima in the picture. The longer she stays out, the better.

He nods, for passion and madness, creation and a murderous eye. It's almost exactly how he views the sun's energy himself--why he understood, at least in theory, Ruby's vicious resentment towards Meridian. Now, the description makes him a little wistful. The best pitch for Meridian he's heard yet.

He's always been best with fire, hasn't he? ]

I think I'd just--rather go into a battle against reality-eating darkness with both of those qualities, [ he sighs, heavy. ] I'm sorry. I know I don't know what I'm talking about in terms of the exact situation here, but I do know something about bringing opposing forces together. Divine masculine and feminine, two competing elements that make an explosion ... Tarot calls it Temperance. However you want to put it--I can't not try.

[redsoil]

[ Set is, now, a Meridian of great prestige and devoutness. He is, before that ever came to be, the ( most favorite! ) child of the sun god, Ra. His grandmother's eye had always been both boon and terror to humanity, and he had always observed her path because there was nothing to obscure it from his view except for the horizon itself. The sun has always stood above all things, as the greatest power — far, far above the night sky. And thus, Meridian was meant to exist above Zenith. They both were required, but one needed to support, not rise as an equal.

Such was his role, he had read: a passage in an old tome that had indicated he was a god of more domains than just war and the desert. He was the chaos, the disorder that gave meaning to balance, the preferred state of existence. Without him toiling away in opposition, it would have no reason to exist. ]

Meridian is the power of the beginning, and Zenith is the power of the end. Creation and growth. Decay and destruction. Both natural and necessary and opposite. If that is the case, and the universe itself gave birth to both these things — why is Zenith trying to create a new world?

[ Set's nose does, briefly, wrinkle at the divine masculine-feminine mention. A kneejerk reaction, because he also adheres to such a dichotomy... but, Osiris had attempted to usurp and change that, by forcing the power of feminine creation unto his masculine form. ]

Usurping that role from Meridian will not bring balance. It will bring an abomination.

[semicharmed]

I see death and life as a wheel, [ Matt says quietly. ] I didn't make that up--I got it from some of the religious traditions where I come from, really old ones. So in terms of a generative force that comes out of decay ... my impression is we draw the lines somewhat arbitrarily, as limited creatures. Categorizing ones. [ A faint, quirking smile Set's way. ] "We" being mortals, in this case.

But fundamentally, I'm ... honestly not sure it's worth debating who's right at this point? If one side is "right." I mean, that's what I want to try using these forces for. For some kind of ... something that could be the antidote to these shadows, maybe. [ Some of Matt's previous remarks have given the impression of processing while he speaks. Now he's in the thick of it, barely bothering to self-censor. ] Unless Meridian's energy has been uniquely good for combating them, compared to Zenith's?

[redsoil]

They are. But, there are still parameters that every domain must adhere to, lest that wheel be broken and meaningless.

[ Set scowls, as if he is a mentor attempting to teach a particularly — whimsical? pupil. While he enjoys teaching, he's not much in the mood to fence ideology with someone right now; Meridian sings a violent song within him, and informs him that anyone who cannot heed his experience, his divinity, is blind. Foolish. In his way. ]

This is not about Factional ideology, but the estrangement of power from its natural state. The Factions preach its use, but that use has likely been corrupted over time. Meridian and Zenith at their most natural state are essential to one another, and anyone who joins to Zenith to create is participating in that corruption.

[ A scowl grows on his face, not quite petulant but getting there. ]

Do what you want, Ma'tt. Investigate, I invite that. But, the moment you use your position to contribute to Zenith in an Oracle battle, I will consider you part of the problem. Zenith is not creation. The energies together, though... we may be able to handle Oblivion. That I agree on, at least.

[ Faction belief is one matter, separate from the actual existence of the energies of Meridian and Zenith! ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt is, at least, trying to hone in on areas where he perceives common ground. "Estrangement from power" is an interesting phrase. He likes it. It's more or less what he meant by questioning Yima; that is, is there a way to have a relationship with Zenith's energy that doesn't involve her? ]

I'm curious about the Oracles, [ Matt admits, his expression darkening. If it's true that poor soul really did become an Oracle, are there others still in them? Reachable? ] But the last thing I wanna do right now is spend time and energy on the fight they're telling us to have, so ... [ It's not exactly the immediate, unreserved energy of I hope I die before I hurt Liem, but it's something. ] I think we're good there.

[ A slight, gathering pause. Matt looks to Set's face with an expression that's more of an appeal than he realizes. ]

Some of my exact thaumaturgical methods are a little bit weird, so I wouldn't ask you to sign on to anything, or even to not be offended, but ... can I reach out to you when I have a better idea about how I might want to test combining Zenith and Meridian?