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Entry tags:
- !event,
- arcane: silco,
- arknights: gavial,
- black butler: sebastian michaelis,
- culture (the): demeisen,
- enderal: jade the prophetess,
- ennead: set,
- expanse (the): amos burton,
- fate/: flat escardos,
- fate/: quetzalcoatl,
- fate/: rin tohsaka,
- fate/: sakamoto ryouma,
- final fantasy xiv: cid garlond,
- fire emblem: claude von riegan,
- fire emblem: dimitri a. blaiddyd,
- fire emblem: shez,
- fire emblem: yuri leclerc,
- granblue fantasy: eustace,
- legend of zelda (the): link,
- life is strange: chloe price,
- marvel: nebula,
- oc: liem talbott,
- oc: matt jamison,
- persona: goro akechi,
- pumpkin scissors: alice l. malvin,
- suikoden: yuber,
- tsubasa reservoir chronicle: subaru,
- vampire hunter d: d
THE SOOT OF IGNORANCE: RISING ACTION
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.
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.
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:
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!
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!
no subject
All he wants is to stay here, holding Sebastian in his throat as the urge to breathe swells to a fever pitch. Then Sebastian's fingers shift in his hair, and all Matt wants is to follow their gentle lead. In Tarot, the Devil is depicted with a chained man and woman; but crucially, the chains are thin and gauzy, easily broken. Only obedience keeps them tethered. Matt's trembling to show Sebastian how well he can follow him, how easily he can mold himself to a glance or the flick of a fingertip.
He pulls back, breathing raggedly. He's so focused on Sebastian, attention torn between his face and his cock, that the touch to his nipples takes him totally by surprise. ]
Oh-- [ That's a whimper, sharper and louder than any sound Matt's made so far tonight. His hips rock forward again, a shallow thrust for how good the pinching tendrils feel. Moisture has started to bead at the tip of his cock. For the first time tonight, Matt's completely forgotten he was supposed to be staying quiet. When he slides back onto Sebastian's cock, it's purely for the pleasure of taking him in again. The pleasure of drawing reactions from him, blown larger through their connection.
Matt moves slowly at first, a muffled moan escaping as he manages to take Sebastian's whole length into his throat again. Then he starts to move faster, chasing that just a bit more. As he lets Sebastian penetrate his throat again and again, everything else falls away. The room, the ache in his knees, even his own throbbing erection. A thread of spit slides down his jaw, his chin, and it's good because it's for him. Everything is for him. ]
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That, and the reverberation of the moan feeds into another sharp pang of arousal. The shadows tighten around Matt’s cock as if to match, but how much of that is intentional versus reflexive is impossible to judge. Sebastian huffs out an indistinct noise all the same, and he finds that Matt needs no further honeyed words. He’s perfectly willing to continue without his encouragement.
So, his other hand comes up to Matt’s head, though it’s no more controlling a gesture. It’s more touch and a more natural place to rest both of his hands now that he’s certain there’s no question. It’s admittedly been a while since someone seemed to be more concerned with his pleasure rather than their own, so it’s something he indulges in.
He finds a rhythm with Matt’s movements where the shadows move in a nice tandem. It’s a fainter feeling, truly a shadow by comparison, fittingly, but he can feel the wet throb of Matt’s cock, the hardness of his nipples as he rolls them like the shadows were deft fingers. But of course more presently is how enthusiastically Matt allows Sebastian to fuck his throat.
It’s a combination of those feelings and that odd, recursive feedback of a shared Aspect that has Sebastian closing his eyes too. His cock throbs against Matt’s tongue as he stutters out a groan of his own. It’s still soft, almost demure in how his brow worries and he tilts his head towards his shoulder like that might muffle it further. But by the time saliva drips past Matt’s lips, Sebastian’s (technically unnecessary) breaths are coming as hot little huffs. ]
Matt— [ He says his name, and it’s heavier than even he intends. There’s a pleased sort of annoyance too, since he’s someone that values his composure deeply… And that’s exactly why most of his partners enjoy taking it away from him. ] May I…
[ He trails off as his fingers tighten in Matt’s hair just a little to finish the question. It’s still a flavor of composure that he keeps that his manner of speech is so polite, and there’s really not much of an eloquent way to ask if you can come in someone’s mouth, much less their throat. ]
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(Playing out in parallel in the basement of Matt's brain, too deep and wordless to count as a thought: vast dark, an absence brimming with potential.)
It's true, Matt does enjoy ruffling a partner's feathers. Shaking their composure. But while the ruffling, the coming apart, can be hot all on its own, what Matt wants most right now is to know he's giving Sebastian pleasure. Their shared Aspect provides an indulgent lens, a new and unexpected layer over the rest of his signals--the way Sebastian's cock throbs on his tongue, the sound of his breathing as it quickens. Matt moans around him; the ragged edges of his Communion feel like a moan too. Yes, yes ...
His hips arch into the tightening ring of Sebastian's shadows. Matt's so close to overwhelmed by all these points of contact: Sebastian's cool ink on his nipples, his cock; his heat and heft filling his mouth and throat; Sebastian's velvet in his mind. The only thing holding Matt back from the edge, the only thing he's waiting for, is to feel Sebastian come. ]
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There’s a small feeling of gratitude, but with permission given, Sebastian’s hands tighten in Matt’s hair as he pulls his head down just a little more forcefully. He pushes his cock into Matt’s throat fully as he comes with a gasp for the more intense feeling that prompted it, but it turns into a gently indulgent moan. It’s still soft enough that it surely wouldn’t be heard down the little flight of stairs, but it feels more private for that. It’s something only for Matt to hear.
And the shadows hold Matt fully. Those on his body stutter for a moment too, since they’re very much a part of Sebastian rather than something independent, but they’re a bit more intense in Communion instead. The coils of dark in Sebastian’s mind slip more intently along Matt’s, but it’s not like they’re trying to consume him. It’s more akin to interlocking fingers, an intimate embrace of Sebastian’s mind and his pleasure against Matt’s own.
He doesn’t hold Matt there insistently, only for a few seconds, then his grip relaxes. The stuttering of the shadows only lasts as long as well, then they start to move in earnest again. It might not be necessary, considering Matt is close too, but he does like overstimulating his partners just a bit, so. ]
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For just a moment, Matt's suspended, as if Sebastian's shadows are holding him in deep, dark water. He wishes he could memorize how Sebastian's mind feels weaving with his--the tendrils of coiled ink against his too-hot and gasping bright--and keep a piece of it forever. He feels Sebastian spill down his throat, hears that delicious moan. It seems like no time passes before Matt's hips are bucking helplessly in orgasm, spurts of sticky white streaking his stomach and the couch.
(Sorry.)
The shadows keep stroking him after he's come, making him shudder, then whimper as the pleasure spikes a little too much. He likes feeling it, though. The intensity, the sharp notes plucked on overplayed nerves. Matt pulls off of Sebastian's cock, staring up at him in a daze. His lips slightly parted, his breath coming fast.
At last, hoarsely: ] Thank you.
[ That's what his mouth says. His emotions are somewhat more pronounced. As his body floods with bright, warm chemicals, his heart swells with a sensation he can only ever define as magic or love. He could crawl over broken glass for Sebastian right now. He'd do anything.
(This is ... not normally the kind of sentiment Matt expresses to his partners, despite often feeling it. He hasn't thought about what it might mean to have sex with someone who can sense his emotions.) ]
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However, as ethereal as they are, it’s followed by something much more physical. What Matt feels, both physical and emotional, it’s something raw to Sebastian’s dull feelings. So, Matt barely has time to breathe his hoarse gratitude as Sebastian dips forward. He holds Matt’s face in both of his hands and kisses him deeply, almost with urgency. If Matt is feeling breathless, Sebastian takes it further.
Because the feeling in Matt’s heart, his Communion… Sebastian doesn’t know it for what it is. The indirect reflection of it that is Communion just drives away whatever sharper, more conscious thoughts he might have had. It’s something new, something intense, and instinctually, he only wants to consume it. It’s not even hunger. It’s simply greed and desire through a demon’s lens.
Yet, it doesn’t last all that long. It’s only a few moments of intensity before Sebastian draws back again to rest his forehead against Matt’s. He huffs out a breath that he might have stolen from Matt, but it turns to a laugh. He laughs as he withdraws from the carnivorous urge because it’s essentially a private joke. Matt doesn’t know just how dangerous that kiss had been, nor would Sebastian ever want him to know. The fact that his souls are stolen with a kiss is simply best to keep secret, for obvious reasons. ]
Excuse me… [ He masks it with gentility, a calming of those shadows and what feelings he does have. ] That was… more intense than I expected.
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He moans softly into the kiss, lips parting. Sebastian releases him, and Matt gasps down a greedy breath.
When Sebastian laughs, he chuckles. ]
For me too. [ He feels sleepy and wrung out; his hand is heavy as he lifts it to cup Sebastian's cheek. He strokes along the fine arch of his cheekbone, breath still coming unevenly. ] Good, though?
[ The gnosis of Communion has offered Matt some pieces of this answer already. Still, he asks. ]
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[ He leans into Matt’s touch and closes his eyes for a moment as if savoring the touch. That part isn’t completely true, as it’s more akin to a finely honed dance. However, the sentiment isn’t. It was good, better than most, in fact. Feeling the glimmer of Matt’s experience was nearly intoxicating. Dangerously so, and he could recognize it... But he would not be so surprised next time, he thinks. He’ll have time to temper that more dangerous impulse.
Because, naturally, he expects there will be a next time. He has a newly found interest here, of course, but he thinks it’s one well returned. He opens his eyes again, and his content smile turns just a little more playful. ]
Consider me thoroughly distracted, in fact.
[ That’s also true, at least. He’ll definitely be thinking about this more than the collar, at least for a small while. He tilts his head slightly to kiss into Matt’s palm, then slips his hands slightly down Matt’s neck to rest on his shoulders instead. ]
And I have kept you up all night, I feel. [ Not strictly true, but. ] I hope I have not exhausted you too much.
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In this one, Matt's knees are starting to remind him they hurt. He shifts, still between Sebastian's legs, to sit on one hip. And he sighs in contentment as Sebastian kisses his palm. ]
I'm glad you exhausted me, [ he says, smiling up at him. He rubs gently up Sebastian's thigh, palm sliding over the scratches his nails have left. ] I'm going to sleep so well.
[ There's a hint of a yawn in that last part, in fact. Which is an unexpected side benefit of coming here: the emotional turmoil of recent days has made Matt's sleep fitful, even when it's not being interrupted by Set. For the first time in--God, since he landed here?--Matt feels at peace. ]
nvm includes it anywaysc
I am glad to hear it. I wish sleep was something I enjoyed at times like this, admittedly…
[ He probably would sleep at the moment too. It’s nothing as tumultuous as Matt’s stay, but all of the headaches of recent events feel like they would be nice to sleep away… But with the yawn, he holds out a hand, and the slivers of black coalesce until they fall forward into fabric. It’s a thin, silken robe to Sebastian’s taste (aka black and luxurious), and he holds it out for Matt. It’s definitely more comfortable than putting clothes back on. ]
Though I do think I will freshen up, personally. Would you like to join me before you retire?
all i need is a skelebath to complete the set
[ A curious breath out, as Matt reaches to accept the robe. It feels nice under his fingers, and nicer when he manages to stagger to his feet and slip it on. ]
That sounds great. [ Pretty close to perfect, honestly. Matt's legs feel like jelly, but he has no trouble sweeping up his discarded clothes with a quick intake of breath that levitates them off the floor. (Apart from his strewn buttons. Those he has no hope of recovering.) Matt rubs the sleeve of the robe between his fingertips, sliding a smile Sebastian's way. ] Mm. I really do like wearing your clothes.
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He stands soon after and nods. The shadows wash over Sebastian, since for himself, he has a slight advantage. An identical robe simply materializes on him, and the fabric falls as naturally as if the dark had just draped it over his shoulders. ]
Well, I am hardly an atelier, but it is good to hear that you enjoy them.
[ He gives as glance to his own clothes, but seeing the slight mess as well… He decides that he’ll just tend to it all once Matt has retired. It bothers him just a little to leave a mess in place, but being a good host wins out. So, he starts to lead the way towards the door and softly down the stairs. ]
You may keep it, of course. There is not so much effort in it as in the others, but it is rather simple… I tend to only conjure things for immediate convenience as of late.
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Well--I'll cherish it. [ There's a hint of teasing in Matt's tone, hushed as he pads after Sebastian down the stairs. But as he so often is, he's also completely in earnest. ] I've never worn a piece of conjured clothing before. There might've been some practitioners back home who could have done something like that, but I've always had kind of a block around those types of law-of-physics challenges. Conjuration, transfiguration.
[ Matt's knowledge of other practitioners from his world is spotty at best. But he gets the impression that "turning lead into gold" and "pulling rabbits out of hats" type magic figures much more prominently in fiction than it ever did in real life. ]
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[ This also serves as a tour, as it turns out, since Sebastian leads the way to the third bedroom, currently unoccupied, and what was absolutely intended to be a master bedroom. There’s a guest bathroom, of course, but this one is bigger so much better suited for two people. He opens the door to both the bedroom and the bath for Matt, and he waits to continue the conversation until they’re inside. ]
It requires perfect understanding. To create a perfect replica, I would essentially be able to make it by hand anyways. It is not so bad for clothing, save for sizing.
[ Sebastian heads to the shower and turns it on, then shrugs off his own robe. It might have been a lot for such a short walk, sure, but he would find it terribly improper for there to even be the chance of Gavial seeing something untoward. Not because she’s a woman, of course. Simply because she’s a guest. Obviously. ]
All to say that it should last just as long as if it were more the "real" thing. I struggle more with things like food, but clothing is something I have become adept at.
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Huh, [ Matt says, as he finds a free spot to deposit his clothes. Then he slips his own robe off and steps towards the shower, holding a hand under the spray to get a sense for the temperature. His movements are languid and satisfied, and though his emotions have calmed since that spike of love/magic/the universe, a thread of deep affection towards Sebastian remains. ] I can see that. The components of food strike me as a little more complicated as the components of clothes ... and the way it all holds together.
Do you have a sense for why it is, though?
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[ He laughs a little, since it occurs to him that there’s another excellent example at hand, quite literally. So, he gestures to the shower. ]
You should step in when it is a pleasing temperature. I tolerate extremes far better, so I am not the best at judging what is comfortable for humans, for example… But I have learned in the past few years, at least.
[ In a way, he had to be thankful to Ciel, because his extremely strict and picky nature had been good training for Sebastian when it came to understanding human senses better. He doesn’t burn people with his tea anymore and he understands flavor as something objective to the human palate, even if it’s not his own. It had merely taken many, many months of Ciel dumping his attempts onto the carpet for him to clean. Or his hands. ]
I am usually a short-term visitor to the human realm, so to stay for a few consecutive years has been a rare treat. To say nothing of the worlds beyond such as here, of course.
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[ Notably not never. Just not reliably.
When he decides he likes the shower's temperature, Matt does in fact step under the spray. His hand trails behind him, reaching for Sebastian. And he crooks a finger: gimme. ]
What makes it a treat?
[ It's an idle question, though of course Matt is interested in the answer. Something pleasant to discuss while he feels so thoroughly pleased. ]
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Well, it is that I like humans, in short.
[ He gives Matt’s hand a coy squeeze as if to accentuate that, but then withdraws his hand so that he can place both of his hands on Matt’s shoulders and lean forward to catch from of the stream of water as well. The shower itself has enough room for them both, but as is always the case when sharing showers, the showerhead itself is only so big… But considering how they ended up here, Sebastian rather doubts that Matt will mind how he presses up against him. ]
But a fair enough analogy is the idea of travel. Think of it that way and I am only travelling for business. I have a limited time to enjoy the sights of whatever place I’m visiting, much less to talk to the people that live there, and then I must return home. A fleeting taste has its charms, but if it is a place you adore visiting, would you not want to stay in that country for a little longer?
[ He draws back just a little so that he can run a hand through his hair to slick it back. His long bangs frame his face well, but as soon as its wet, it just sticks to his face completely, so. Less than ideal. ]
It is a chance to relax a bit more. To meet people and understand them, to see the kind of art and innovation that is simply not possible for my kind… What else could that be but a treat?
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He listens curiously as Sebastian talks. The word relax gets his lips twitching a bit, mordant amusement rippling through his mind, but he figures "a chance to relax" probably refers to mortal realms in general, rather than the specific circumstances they find themselves in. ]
I see. [ He reaches for the soap, starting to scrub off the spots that need it most. Still moving languidly, but slightly more alert now. ] I like art and innovation too, of course. And people. I guess I've never really envisioned a place where they just ... don't exist.
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Since Matt is the one with a bit more to clean up, practically speaking, Sebastian takes this at a languid pace too. He takes a small step closer so that Matt can fully lean against him, and he rests his head on Matt’s shoulder. He closes his eyes mostly to keep the water out of them, but his expression does seem relaxed and content as well. ]
That is the real torture of Hell, honestly. Once you get past all the horrors, it is a far duller place than you would expect. So, perhaps it is a more mundane reason than most would have, but I truly do not wish to return.
[ He’s partially joking with his choice of words, of course, but the sentiment is sincere. Therefore, what he follows it with might be a bit funny. ]
I can wash your hair, if you would like. I have been told I give an excellent scalp massage.
[ Just a demon from actual, literal Hell casually offering his masseuse services… As he does. He would deny it vehemently, but he’s definitely been domesticated, at least somewhat. ]
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"Hell is boring" sounds a lot like "hell is other people," [ he muses. ] It'd be torture to me, that's for sure. At least with whips and hot pokers someone's paying attention to you.
[ He's not being entirely serious. And anyway, Sebastian distracts him with his very appealing offer. ]
That sounds amazing. [ Matt makes a sound halfway between a yawn and a sigh, tipping his head back slightly as if to offer it (though the angle isn't very convenient, practically speaking). ] I love getting massages. Giving them too.
[ Matt finishes up with the soap and hands it back to Sebastian. Something prickles at his mind about Sebastian--how he'd said he usually gives and rarely receives. ]
I'd love to give you one sometime, [ he adds. ] When I'm more awake. My specialty's more of the full body than scalp, though.
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[ He raises his head from Matt’s shoulder, since it’s definitely not the position for a scalp massage or for taking the soap handoff. ]
—Oh.
[ At least there’s no question that he might have been lying, since the surprise is crystal clear when Matt offers. Sebastian takes the soap with a thoughtful little noise as he pulls away just enough to wash his own body. Not too much, though, naturally, lest he pull away from Matt. ]
…If it is not imposing. [ Matt may have literally just offered, and yet the politeness must be stated. ] I do not know if I have ever received a proper one, to be completely honest.
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Then I can be the first, [ he says with a small smile. Matt's back is still to Sebastian, as he happily drinks in all the contact he can get. But given how their connection's worked thus far, he's confident Sebastian will be able to tell how pleased the prospect makes him. In a teasing tone, he adds, ] I can't believe you made this fantastic body and people haven't insisted on getting their hands all over it.
[ The Victorian era may have been a more repressed time than his own, but massage has been around for thousands of years, right? Get it together, people. ]
Takes all kinds, I guess.
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Well, I hope you do not think me to be too much of a cad, but that is admittedly something of the point...
[ He's of course teasing in return with the quaint self-deprecation. And having scrubbed himself clean, he can't help but tease a little more by having his motion match the conversation, somewhat.
With his hands still lathered up, he sets the soap aside, but puts his hands on Matt's back to wash it. He'd also be completely fair in thinking that Sebastian was lying at not having received a massage before, considering his own hands are deft with a similar motion, but. No, it's just an advantage of truly perfect memory. He's seen them before, and that's all he needs. ]
Plenty have wanted to, I imagine. But insisting? That is so very improper... [ His tone is light, clearly teasing at the repression humans feel without saying it directly. It was especially notable in 1889, true, but it was hardly a new phenomenon. ] So... Thank you for being terribly improper, hm?
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I wouldn't say "cad," [ he protests. ] I'd never say cad. Maybe rake, or gallant, or maybe ... mm. [ He hums at Sebastian's touch, back arching pleasantly under his hands. Maybe it's the word "improper" combined with the path of Sebastian's hands, but Matt's never felt so aware of the Stargazer tattoo across his lower back. He breathes out a long sigh, in time with Sebastian's traveling touch. ] Maybe "man about town."
[ He smiles, his lashes dipping. Matt's a little worried that he'll nod right off the moment he lets his eyes close, but that wouldn't necessarily be such a bad thing. He's confident Sebastian would catch him before his head hit the tile. ] But you're welcome. Anytime you need my twenty-first century mores, just say the word. I'm here to scandalize.
[ Truthfully, Matt doesn't get much out of purposefully scandalizing other people. Mostly it makes him feel terrified and embarrassed. But when it's behind closed doors, and between adults who can be trusted to be discreet ... well, what good has society ever done any of them? What allegiance do they owe to the way things are done? ]
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