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Entry tags:
- !event,
- arcane: silco,
- arknights: gavial,
- black butler: sebastian michaelis,
- culture (the): demeisen,
- divinity original sin: fane,
- enderal: jade the prophetess,
- expanse (the): amos burton,
- fate grand order: tezcatlipoca,
- fate/: rin tohsaka,
- fate/: sakamoto ryouma,
- fire emblem: shez,
- fire emblem: yuri leclerc,
- forgotten realms: raphael,
- howl's moving castle: howl,
- jinba: hayame,
- legend of zelda (the): link,
- life is strange: chloe price,
- oc: liem talbott,
- oc: matt jamison,
- pumpkin scissors: alice l. malvin,
- suikoden: yuber,
- terra e: tony asuka,
- tsubasa reservoir chronicle: subaru
THE ADVOCATE ORACLE - A RIP VAN WINKLE IN TIME
Sweet dreams are made of Bliss
As the twilight falls, and bearers begin to tuck in for their evenings on the night of the 15th of March (OOC time) and whether they tuck themselves into bed fully, or simply drift away in the middle of their dinner, work, indulgences, or what have you; bearers will fall into a deep, deep sleep. Perhaps you slump in your chair, or you wrap your arms around a teddy bear, or partner, or cup a precious shard in your sleep, it doesn’t matter, because as you drift away, into a sleep that seems to tug you under like the undertow itself, a question will echo in bearer’s minds: “If given the choice, would you show compassion in the face of adversity?”
It sticks with you, even as you fall into a dreamless sleep. As if it rotates in your mind, over and over, letting you worm over that. You know for certain what it is, that it is the calming, soothing voice of the Oracle, reaching out to you across the ether, telling you – promise you – that if you accept its promise, you will find that the Oracle could be in your hands. That thought leads you to dream of something else – of home, or your loved ones – of what you are fighting this war for. Even as you dream, you feel a presence next to you, and unlike the Harbinger’s winding, rough digging, this is more akin to a friend, who is asking you soft, coaxing questions. Things like: what was your childhood like? What were your friends like? What did you do? You cannot help but think of them, think of your home and your loved ones. Of where you came from, and how it made you what you are.
The advocate seeks to understand you, and where you come from. You can feel it, that overwhelming Acceptance and love from it, even as you reminisce, compelled to answer the multitude of questions, you can feel something building behind you, around you. “Don’t you want them all to understand this?” the impression is given through communion, and you cannot help but answer: yes.
It sticks with you, even as you fall into a dreamless sleep. As if it rotates in your mind, over and over, letting you worm over that. You know for certain what it is, that it is the calming, soothing voice of the Oracle, reaching out to you across the ether, telling you – promise you – that if you accept its promise, you will find that the Oracle could be in your hands. That thought leads you to dream of something else – of home, or your loved ones – of what you are fighting this war for. Even as you dream, you feel a presence next to you, and unlike the Harbinger’s winding, rough digging, this is more akin to a friend, who is asking you soft, coaxing questions. Things like: what was your childhood like? What were your friends like? What did you do? You cannot help but think of them, think of your home and your loved ones. Of where you came from, and how it made you what you are.
The advocate seeks to understand you, and where you come from. You can feel it, that overwhelming Acceptance and love from it, even as you reminisce, compelled to answer the multitude of questions, you can feel something building behind you, around you. “Don’t you want them all to understand this?” the impression is given through communion, and you cannot help but answer: yes.
Click your Heels together, Dorothy!
As you awake for the first time, it’s alien, the world that meets you. New smells fill your nostrils, new sights, the gravity is perhaps different than you’ve gotten used to on Kenos, even those slight shifts enough to make the world feel wholly different. You remember the advocate’s words, and it wants you to feel what it feels. Understanding. Compassion, and perhaps there is a sense that doing so would hurt yourself in turn, if you understood too much. That is the advocate’s way, after all, isn’t it?
You feel an inexorable, slight tug in your chest. Something subtle and gentle, the slightest of sensations, that gives you a direction. You know it, your mind only just now comprehending the advocate’s confusing impressions via communion, that there is something of this world’s… Soul/center/heart or whatever word you want to use for it. Something about this world that will help you along your path, and help you with the results you so desire. You know it will not guarantee a victory, but surely it will help. Especially as your numbers dwindle from world to world. You are left with an impression from the Advocate -- if you die, they cannot bring you back. There is apology in this, but alone, one oracle is limited. Only united, can they truly change your fate.
The lingering presence of the advocate starts to fade. You know this is a bearer’s world, if not your own. You look around, to see perhaps a familiar face nearby? Or perhaps you are alone. Does it matter? You know that this place belongs to a bearer, but whether they are a friend or an enemy, one has to begin to determine that. You’ll need your wits, you’ll need your strength and resolve to make it to the end of this, won’t you?
After all, as bearers were recently reminded: this is War. This is not simply the fate of this world, but perhaps all, as it will require you to find the answer to this question. So you start to move, you start to look around, explore, and search. For the soul of each world, for the bearers that lie dreaming within, and your foes that will seek you out. Stay steadfast, for the way out will come, if you make it to the end. The longer you spend in each world, however, the more the shadows look darker, and deeper. Hungrier. The more the spaces seem smaller or compressed. As if there is something gnawing away at the sides, making their way to the heart.
You feel an inexorable, slight tug in your chest. Something subtle and gentle, the slightest of sensations, that gives you a direction. You know it, your mind only just now comprehending the advocate’s confusing impressions via communion, that there is something of this world’s… Soul/center/heart or whatever word you want to use for it. Something about this world that will help you along your path, and help you with the results you so desire. You know it will not guarantee a victory, but surely it will help. Especially as your numbers dwindle from world to world. You are left with an impression from the Advocate -- if you die, they cannot bring you back. There is apology in this, but alone, one oracle is limited. Only united, can they truly change your fate.
The lingering presence of the advocate starts to fade. You know this is a bearer’s world, if not your own. You look around, to see perhaps a familiar face nearby? Or perhaps you are alone. Does it matter? You know that this place belongs to a bearer, but whether they are a friend or an enemy, one has to begin to determine that. You’ll need your wits, you’ll need your strength and resolve to make it to the end of this, won’t you?
After all, as bearers were recently reminded: this is War. This is not simply the fate of this world, but perhaps all, as it will require you to find the answer to this question. So you start to move, you start to look around, explore, and search. For the soul of each world, for the bearers that lie dreaming within, and your foes that will seek you out. Stay steadfast, for the way out will come, if you make it to the end. The longer you spend in each world, however, the more the shadows look darker, and deeper. Hungrier. The more the spaces seem smaller or compressed. As if there is something gnawing away at the sides, making their way to the heart.
Around the world in 60 seconds 12 hours
When you find yourself at the end, when you close your eyes – only a blink, but it hangs, as if the momentary motion is enough to suspend you into a suspended space before. You can see the two options stretched out before you – metaphysically – the impression of it. A long, long shadow cast over one. As if there is a presence hovering over and above, like waiting jaws, ready to strike. In the other, there remains…nothing. It is not pleasant, it is not comforting, it simply… is. A sense that there is now a lack of anything, almost like it had never existed before.
Does this world have value? You can feel the Advocate ask. Do you want to give them a chance to live? Or does should this world cease, is there nothing here to save?
And though you are compelled, required to answer, you know this question for what it is. Short-sighted. Both, in the end, will lead to its destruction, but which will you choose? Will you allow the world to continue, even with that long shadow cast, like a hungry beast with snapping jaws; or will you erase it from existence and spare it that oncoming apocalypse?
Does this world have value? You can feel the Advocate ask. Do you want to give them a chance to live? Or does should this world cease, is there nothing here to save?
And though you are compelled, required to answer, you know this question for what it is. Short-sighted. Both, in the end, will lead to its destruction, but which will you choose? Will you allow the world to continue, even with that long shadow cast, like a hungry beast with snapping jaws; or will you erase it from existence and spare it that oncoming apocalypse?
Catch [???] Winks
The last world’s fate decided, bearers float in an endless sea of stars. You can see them all, spread before you. Intermittently, they wink out, swallowed into the darkness, consumed as the shadows, that inky-black nothingness grows ever-larger. It looks upon you, bearers. It is nothing, but you have its attention, and your blood runs cold, your limbs frozen. You cannot move, you cannot speak, you cannot breathe. You feel it, the power of being drawn into it, like it wants to consume you. Like it knows you.
T̸̢̼̯͓̬̘́̀̋̆͊h̷͔̣̱̝͍̬̣͕̄̂͗̆͒͌͜ͅẹ̶̱̩̅͒̿̇͠ ̵̭̹͇͖̔̀ṃ̸̢̧͙̟̼̜͌͆̍͝͝ͅo̴̟̞̓̆̇̐̆͊̽͆̂̀r̶͈̺̮̠͙̗͌ę̸̤̻̈́͐͂̓̊͐̂͆ ̵̡̛͎̩̳̤͔͚̱̼̆̒̓y̴̺̞̹̺̝̤͂ǫ̷̡̣̱̥͊̈́̓͑̕͘ű̵̼͜͜ ̶̨̨̝̟̘̱͇̲̻̪̊͂̽̈̒͊f̴̱̐͌̌̓̋̔́̀͝i̶͖̤͎̬̝̦͒̂g̸̳̰̟̀̓̽̈́̐h̸̼͍̮͎̊̅͗͊̈͋̽̀͘t̴͔͚́̓,̷̨̧̱̠̙̠̙̱̒̍̽̾ ̷̖̰̼̬̟͐̊̂t̶̖̄͂̅̃̍͐̊̑̅͜͝h̴̢̛͙̪̞̫̝̺̋̅̿͛̇̚͝͝ͅͅȩ̶͉̤͍̠́̈͑̏͋̚͘͝ ̸̢̨̧͚̖̤̪̬̪̀̉̐͗̂͆͑̚̕̚c̴̠̩̳͎̲̪͔̟̈́͂̉͑́l̶̡̲̻̣̘̏́ͅo̶̢̧͔͈̬̳̰͈̝̻͌̋̆̃͒͗̏͘ş̴̪̺̣̥̎̽̿͗̒́͛̕̚̚e̴̺͍̤͖͂̇͑͂̋͂̆̾r̴̨̩̈́͋͠ ̷̧͚̲̩̖̋͒̉́͗y̶̘̖̝̑̈͊ǒ̵͚̽u̵͎͍̇̀̏̊̕͝ŕ̷͎̜̘͙̀̋ ̶͇̲̝̞̖̝̣̘̝̬͋d̷͔͈͔̀̿õ̴̝̯͇̹̘̏͗͜ö̵͚͓͆m̵͉̦̫̥̦̞̫͐̆͐̿͊͒͌͋͜.̷̼͈̻̥̜̾̏͐̾̐͆͘͜
You gasp, as you startle awake, and open your eyes for the first time in a long time.
T̸̢̼̯͓̬̘́̀̋̆͊h̷͔̣̱̝͍̬̣͕̄̂͗̆͒͌͜ͅẹ̶̱̩̅͒̿̇͠ ̵̭̹͇͖̔̀ṃ̸̢̧͙̟̼̜͌͆̍͝͝ͅo̴̟̞̓̆̇̐̆͊̽͆̂̀r̶͈̺̮̠͙̗͌ę̸̤̻̈́͐͂̓̊͐̂͆ ̵̡̛͎̩̳̤͔͚̱̼̆̒̓y̴̺̞̹̺̝̤͂ǫ̷̡̣̱̥͊̈́̓͑̕͘ű̵̼͜͜ ̶̨̨̝̟̘̱͇̲̻̪̊͂̽̈̒͊f̴̱̐͌̌̓̋̔́̀͝i̶͖̤͎̬̝̦͒̂g̸̳̰̟̀̓̽̈́̐h̸̼͍̮͎̊̅͗͊̈͋̽̀͘t̴͔͚́̓,̷̨̧̱̠̙̠̙̱̒̍̽̾ ̷̖̰̼̬̟͐̊̂t̶̖̄͂̅̃̍͐̊̑̅͜͝h̴̢̛͙̪̞̫̝̺̋̅̿͛̇̚͝͝ͅͅȩ̶͉̤͍̠́̈͑̏͋̚͘͝ ̸̢̨̧͚̖̤̪̬̪̀̉̐͗̂͆͑̚̕̚c̴̠̩̳͎̲̪͔̟̈́͂̉͑́l̶̡̲̻̣̘̏́ͅo̶̢̧͔͈̬̳̰͈̝̻͌̋̆̃͒͗̏͘ş̴̪̺̣̥̎̽̿͗̒́͛̕̚̚e̴̺͍̤͖͂̇͑͂̋͂̆̾r̴̨̩̈́͋͠ ̷̧͚̲̩̖̋͒̉́͗y̶̘̖̝̑̈͊ǒ̵͚̽u̵͎͍̇̀̏̊̕͝ŕ̷͎̜̘͙̀̋ ̶͇̲̝̞̖̝̣̘̝̬͋d̷͔͈͔̀̿õ̴̝̯͇̹̘̏͗͜ö̵͚͓͆m̵͉̦̫̥̦̞̫͐̆͐̿͊͒͌͋͜.̷̼͈̻̥̜̾̏͐̾̐͆͘͜
You gasp, as you startle awake, and open your eyes for the first time in a long time.
link 🍏 (zenith savant)
[ Link is laying on his back, staring upwards, for a long while after first awaking. A cloudless blue sky stretches endlessly above, framed by red and orange leaves above and the soft glow of blue nightshade flowers in his periphery. He knows exactly where he is. He'd scoured the remote northeastern wilds of Hyrule several times by now — after he first awoke, and again with Zelda after freeing her, and a yet third time after losing her. Somewhere in the distance, a pair of rainbow pigeons coo adoringly at each other. And from somewhere too close for comfort thunks the metallic segmented legs of a Guardian, on the lookout for any poor soul unlucky enough to wander within its range.
For a few minutes, Link doesn't move. He wonders, maybe hopes, that this means all of it was a dream. All of it. That maybe he ate a bad mushroom, or took a blow to the head, and completely hallucinated the entire world of Kenos — not only of traveling there, but of everything that happened after, all the people he met, the hardships, the visions of Hyrule's past and his own future, the Zonai, Ganondorf under the castle — all of it. But one small twitch of his right hand against the grass beneath him dispels that possibility quickly. He can feel the copper-like rings encasing his knuckles and fitted bindings wound around his hand and arm.
And just from that, he knows that all of it was real, and that this must be the Advocate Oracle.
If we lose this one, it's over. That's what Link had told everyone last week, when it became clear that another Oracle was on its way, and he repeats it again now, in his head, like a spell to invigorate his spirits. As much as he'd love to lay here and soak in this familiar wilderness, he has to get up. I have to get up, he tells himself, and finally he pushes himself up and rises to his feet.
The first thing he has to do, before anything else, is account for anyone else who's here with him... friend or foe. ]
Hello! Is anyone here?
[ The trees seem to absorb his voice, no matter how loudly he shouts. So he jogs over to the crumbling remains of an old stone wall and ascends to the top, where he can get a good view of his surroundings.
And give everyone else a good view of him. But it's a risk he's willing to take. Link isn't about to leave anyone out here, where a chance encounter with Ganon's forces means certain death. ]
[2] wildcard (link's world)
((this one's a general open invitation for anything that might pop up in Link's world! Feel free to handwave their initial meeting, or assume that your character comes across Link within the Citadel itself.))
[3] menzoberranzan (drizzt's world)
[ One might think that Link's ears and small stature would cause him to fit in fairly well in the City of Spiders, home to the drow elves. Or, at least, fit in better than the average non-elven visitor from Kenos. But Link discovers in his first hour of being in this world that the complete opposite seems to be true — by lacking the drow's dark skin and ivory hair, he may as well have a target painted on his face.
Finally, after losing the most recent threat to his life, he finds a small, dark alleyway and nearly collapses to the ground with exhaustion. This world is familiar, not as a place Link has been to before but a place he's heard very much about... and if this world really belongs to the person Link thinks it does, then his sense of responsibility to find the Shard of its Dreamer is that much stronger.
But how the hell is he going to find the thing, when this place is so intensely hostile that he can barely traverse through it? He only has one idea. The same advice he gave to Matt now applies to himself. ]
...Does Communion still work?
[ Link reaches out with his mind for someone, anyone, from Kenos who might be stuck in this place with him. It's not unlike the risk he took in his own world, when he climbed up onto that wall... just a different sort of risk. ]
Let's team up. If not to find the Shard, then... just to survive. I don't know if I can run from another troupe of demons all by myself.
[4] shambhala (shez's world)
[ Not every world has the Bearers running for their lives, at least. This one appears to be another underground city, but aside from that, it's nothing like Menzoberranzan. Children play in the streets, delicious smells waft from food stalls, and shop windows display gadgets and illuminated books for sale. It's very... normal, honestly. Peaceful. And, significantly, nothing is trying to kill him.
That faint pulling sensation which guides him towards this world's Shards feels ever so slightly stronger in this world, causing Link to suspect that the Dreamer's Shard is aspected to the Savant. The outside of the Chapel looks like nothing Link would have expected, and if it weren't for that pull, he wouldn't want to go inside at all.
So for now... he doesn't. He shuffles up to one of the food stalls and peers over the shoulders of the people standing in line, curious about whatever this one is selling. He has none of this world's money, of course, so he can't actually buy anything — but considering how hungry he is, and how much he's trying to ignore the Shard calling out to him, he's easily distracted in this moment. ]
[5] wildcard
((aaand of course feel free to tag him with anything/anywhere else, too! I'm down for just about anything short of Link's World Shard getting shattered or Link himself being dissipated. But Link's alternate Shard getting shattered is fair game! hit me up if you're interested.))
3
I'm here.
[ He's not quite sure where Link is, but he can't be far, surely. ]
Do you need help? The people here are... strange.
[ He shouldn't. But Link is his friend. ]
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Link knows they shouldn't, either. But a part of him wants to. He remembers the promise they made to each other after the last Oracle. Despite the situation between the Meridian and the Zenith, Link has no intention of breaking that promise... and he's willing to put his trust in Dimitri not to break it either.
So finally, he answers. ]
I do need help. I'm tired. They've had me on the run for hours. I think I've gotten away from one person, only to run straight into another thing that wants me dead.
[ But he hesitates anyway. He knows that finding Drizzt's Shard is not something he and Dimitri can do together. ]
Where are you? Have you found someplace safe?
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He has mixed feelings about a lot of things. He's just glad Link doesn't seem to want to reject him out of hand. ]
No where truly safe. I'm lurking in back-alleys and trying to avoid running into people. So far that seems to be the only way, unless I can find an unused building to hide out in.
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[ A new goal is like a light in the darkness. A singular objective allows him to focus, shutting out everything that has plagued him in this world until now. But how are they going to find each other? With a deep breath, he looks up and down the alleyway he'd ducked into — everything and everywhere is so dark without the blessing of a sun or moon. ]
I can see a tall spire in the distance. [ He can't tell him a direction, like north or south, seeing as how this place is bereft of all methods he knows to determine such a thing. ] It's got windows on the sides... and maybe a belfry near the top... do you see it? Or anything else around you that's a landmark?
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I see it. It's... rather far away from my perspective. Do you see any discerning marks? I can't tell what direction is which. I can see a light in it...
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Across their connection, there's a peal of frustrated hopelessness, like distant thunder. ]
I don't. I don't see anything like that. I don't know what to do.
[ This place sucks. He's definitely not voting to save it, that's for sure. ]
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Can we try following our Communion bond, potentially? Or we can both start working toward the spire and meet there, if nothing else.
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So Link takes a deep breath, climbs back onto his aching feet, and starts to move again. ]
...No, you're right. You're into something.
Stay where you are, and just keep talking to me. Okay?
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wildcardy wildcard!
Two metal limbs lay discarded, ripped from their root by a combination of cutting blows and force, and the thrumming engine of the inanimate Guardian finally dwindles and dies. Only then does Drizzt's predatory stance begin to lighten, his shoulders coming out of their drawn hunch, his blades withdrawing from where they had been thrust deep into the tough carapace of the entity. He doesn't understand what they are, of course, just that they're aiming to kill and thus, need to be killed; they aren't the first difficult beast he's fought, nor the first one that was difficult to kill by blade. He's adjusted his fighting style through the years to account for armor and hide, to use his blades as more than just cutting tools.
Slowly, he lifts his head, as if only just picking up on the nearness of another — below the edge of his hood, the pale lavender of his irises are moon-bright and pupil-less. Painfully constricted against the glow of the sunlight around. ]
— Link? [ He croaks, hoarse and hopeful. He'd seen the Hylian calling from the top of the ruins, and made his way immediately for him, only to be beset by all sorts of monsters. They'd all perished, the same as goblins and armies and dragons and elementals and demons and humans had all also perished by his lethal hand. Now, his vision swims with something edged with instinct, some pained desperation — please, be real he begs silently. Please, I cannot be trusted alone. ] My friend, have I finally reached you?
no subject
Are you alright?
[ Link saw the whole thing. The drow elf's small figure rising up from tall straw-colored grasses far down the road, the Bokoblins and Moblins who set upon him assuming they'd found an easy meal, and the Guardian who was alerted by the subsequent noise. It was when the automaton got involved that Link leaped from his perch at the top of the wall and began to sprint towards his friend in a panic, praying that he'd reach him in time to save him from a gruesome and painful death —
and by the time he got here, it was in its whirling death throes. But what about Drizzt himself? ]
Oh, Goddesses. Hylia, the protector. If you're there, thank you for protecting him...
[ His gloved hands reach out to grab his upper arm, helping to hold him steady. He doesn't look hurt — Link can't see any significant bleeding — but the look on his face is preventing the anxious pit in his stomach from dissolving away. ]
It's alright. Take a deep breath. What's wrong? Did it shoot you?
no subject
He dips the blades low, and fluidly returns them to their sheathes, seeking to reach for Link's hand as it crosses the space between them to grasp him. He trembles, energy ripping through him as he burns through the desire to fight-kill-survive and instead moves to crush Link into his arms and bury his face into the crook of his neck. ]
I've been looking everywhere for you, world after world. I saw sign of you in Menzoberranzan and worried for the worst — [ that Link would be consumed, torn apart, by the true cruelty of a goddess who shared no goodness with Hylia. Who was more wicked and capricious than even the war-god who stood on Meridian's side, who made him resemble an actor posturing. ]
I'm not good, when I am alone. My mind... it drifts away from me.
[ He becomes instinct and survival alone, and even now, his mind still feels slippery with focus on a distant goal: survive, kill, accomplish the task. ]
no subject
Link hugs him back. He presses his cheek against the side of Drizzt's pearly white hair and rubs his back between his shoulder blades, comforting him the same way he'd once comforted Zelda. ]
It's alright. I found you. You're not alone, okay?
[ This part of Drizzt, however, is not something he understands quite yet. From what he can tell, some changes within him when he's faced with danger — something unique and separate from a typical fight-or-flight response. He'd caught glimpses of it in the Beyond, whenever a monster crossed their path on the way to the Temple of Isis, but because the two of them were able to dispatch of most monsters very quickly, it never really came out in full force or for very long. And Link chose not to ask about it. They barely knew each other back then, and when Drizzt never brought it up himself, Link assumed he was not particularly eager to explain it.
But whatever has intoxicated Drizzt in this moment — it's the same thing. A bestial rage, a trance, a bloodlust, or whatever one might want to call it.
Pulling away from him slightly, Link reaches up to pull Drizzt's hood back over his pale eyes, hoping to give him some relief from Akkala's bright, dry sunlight. ]
We shouldn't talk here. There's probably more on their way. Can you walk? Here, lean against me.
[ There's no point in waiting for confirmation — the two of them are sitting ducks. His eyes lift towards the towering Citadel over Drizzt's shoulder. The inside of it isn't going to be much safer, but at least they won't be out in the open anymore. Insistently, he slots his shoulder under Drizzt's arm to steady him. ]
The Shards are in the fortress. I can feel it. I know this place, I know a way inside. Then, we'll stop and rest. Can you make it there?
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Tezcatlipoca speaks of such loneliness as part of a Trial. Raphael speaks the title of "hero", a cursed word that follows his heels and marks him in the eyes of destiny and antagonism as a target. Someone to burn through, to demand carry the burdens of others en masse. As much a sacrifice, as he was a punching bag, a little jester that was bade to do tricks for the order of the world — for the eternal struggle between good and evil and all the gray areas in between. It's such an arduous thing, to be a hero.
It is to be alone, even among family and friends. And to take companionship when it is there, at the same time. To accept warmth into one's heart, knowing that it may be fleeting, might be lost suddenly one day. ]
Thank you, my friend.
[ To Drizzt, it means showing people respect and love without reservation. Waiting too long had robbed him of many, many lives he could have shared time with, intimacy with, affection and adoration and peace — now, he has chosen a different path of the long-lived and strong: that of open honesty, that of not withdrawing into a misanthropic shell that prefers the wilderness and the immortality of his astral companion, that of reaching out when he wants to, needs to, and begging people to help him with their presence so that the Hunter did not overtake him.
He holds himself to Link's side, leaning into his warmth, the strong line of his shoulders as he bows his head and allows himself to be led toward the dark shadows within the citadal, out of the blinding light beyond. No matter how long he had lived under the sun, the biological advantages given to the elves of the Underdark for seeing in lightless places had never allowed him to fully adapt to the surface. Even his strange eyes were ill-suited, unless he sheltered them below the shade of his hood. ]
I can make it. My body isn't injured [ just his mind, ] and I will help you find the Shards. Even just one, if I can. Whatever you wish to do with it, we can discuss it once we accomplish the task. Your world is — it was beautiful. Difficult and rife with evil, but no less capable of great and beautiful things than mine was.
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But that's one of the quintessential parts of life, isn't it? People can't read each other's minds. You have to communicate. And that has never been his strong suit. Even now, he doesn't know what else he can say to Drizzt to help him... or to help himself. ]
The part of your world that I saw...
[ he begins, slowly. ]
..."Beautiful" isn't what I'd call it.
[ Should he tell him now? That he managed to wrestle its Shard from the eye socket of a horrible, enormous spider, only to protect it from harm afterwards? He couldn't bring himself to shatter it, after all. He meant what he said to the other Zenites. It didn't change just because Drizzt's world had treated him, and Drizzt himself, and everyone else in it, so cruelly.
Link doesn't offer much more conversation until they've made it safely inside the Citadel. Dark and damp, it smells like stale air and mold, with a faint acrid stench of Bokoblins and the burning sting of aerated Gloom. The two men shuffle to a large meeting hall on the first floor of the fortress, or at least, what used to be a meeting hall. Tables are turned on their sides, all facing towards the hallway leading to the main entrance, and the empty chassis of long-deal Guardians are piled at that chokepoint... but only to a point, before they inevitably climbed over the bodies of their brethren and laid waste to the soldiers inside. Many, many men perished in this room, fighting an enemy they had no chance against. ]
Okay. Let's stop here and rest.
[ It's the first thing Link has said in a long minute. Leading Drizzt towards the back of the hall, he carefully helps him down to the floor. ]
What do you need right now? [ One hand lingers on Drizzt's shoulder. ] Food? Water?
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[ Still, there's no way he'd say that it didn't deserve to exist. ]
But it was my home, when I was young. A home that I left because I didn't agree with its values and teachings, and instead wanted something else. I never begrudged it for existing, though I did hope that it could one day change for the better. That if I could, they could.
[ It's not a beautiful place, not Menzoberranzan. It was a goddesses's garden of debauchery and madness, built by her, for her alone. The plight of the drow was one handcrafted by a cruel deity who wanted nothing more than to chase her own power and importance through their existence and ignorance. Being there again was... it was difficult, and threw him back into old memories and haunting habits; it's why he leans into Link gently as they make their way into the Citadel, until they're at the back of the hall and he can sink down to the floor. Curling his knees to his chest, to draw his cloak around himself. ]
— just company, [ and that's the truth, as he looks up from under the edge of his hood. The soft glow of the moon-pale Shard on his brow illuminates him from the inside out, shining like a sliver of silver. ] I'm sorry to worry you. It's — I have, difficulty being alone. Without companions, I slip into strange places in my mind. Like I've taken a step to the side and fallen into a dream. Some part of my mind has long sectioned itself away, to ensure I survive... especially when alone. I've been alone for as long as I've been among others, and the isolation, ah.
[ It drove him mad, in a way. ]
I'm sorry for my place of birth, I hope you don't take any treatment to heart — it was a place built for the pleasure of a callous goddess, who bade my people stay a course of ignorance self-imprisonment for her continued supremacy. They were bred to hate.
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But it does raise an unavoidable question: how did Drizzt turn out the way he did, coming from a place like that?
Link settles onto the floor beside his friend and lifts his gaze towards the high ceiling of the Citdael's main hall. The wooden rafters above are coated with dusty cobwebs and patches of mold. Some beams are speckled with perfectly round holes, carved out by the searing hot lasers of the dead Guardians piled by the entrance. This is the world that produced Link... empty and quiet, filled with whispers of the long-dead, of hopes and dreams and arguments and aspirations unfulfilled. A skeleton with wildflowers growing up between the bones. ]
What do you mean... alone for as long as you've been among others?
[ He props his elbows on his knees and finally looks back down at him. The soft glow of his Shard illuminates his dark face, but it's a sight Link had grown used to when they were traveling together in the Beyond. ]
That sounds like a story. [ He smiles, inviting him to tell it, but he'd understand if Drizzt doesn't want to. ]
1
This world actually seemed beautiful, and for a moment all he could assume was that it was one belonging to a Meri. A funny thought from a boy who misses his own home horribly, but has still opted to throw in his lot with Zenith as well. The assumption borders on hypocritical, but the realities he saw just make it seem like...
... Like he might have been mistaken, because peeking around a crumbling section of stone wall, he sees a mechanical monstrosity loudly thumping around in a way that looks anything by friendly. Atsumu is quick to duck back around the wall after that, pressing up against it and hiding in the shadows.
Only for Link to clamber up on top of it a moment later, a brightly colored beacon for something that Atsumu admittedly isn't sure has eyes, but doesn't want to find out the answer to that. He hisses out a sound, trying not to be too loud in case that thing has the ability to hear as well, and frantically tries to wave Link down off of that damn wall. ]
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Atsumu?
[ That is him, isn't it? Link brightens, and looks like he's about to greet him with a smile, when a blaringly loud beeping starts to come from the trees he'd just ran through to get here. He knows this sound too well — and he's oddly, strangely calm as he turns around to find a Guardian stomping towards him, its laser pointed directly at his chest.
But Link doesn't jump down to hide. He doesn't even run. He plants his feet on the wall's stones and takes his shield from his back, facing the automaton directly as it continues to advance, the beeping getting louder and louder. ]
...Stay down there, alright? This will only take a minute.
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... But all the same. ]
Are you outta your mind?
[ That's a big ass robot that seems to have some kind of laser sight pointed right at him. Atsumu curses under his breath as he starts to take small leaps through the air, not climbing up the wall proper, but instead climbing the air next to it as he makes his way up towards Link, directly ignoring what he was told to do.
A shame too, because he's probably about to make this more difficult for the guy. ]
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suddenly, the high-pitched squeal of a weapon firing. Half a second later, Link swings his left arm — the arm carrying his shield — with a similar angle and motion as someone swinging a tennis racket.
But it's not a squishy ball he's deflecting. He swiped his shield at the moment that the Guardian's blast would have hit him — deflecting the laser off the polished surface of the shield with the kind of intensely precise timing that only comes with experience and practice.
The laser travels directly back in the direction it came, striking the bottom part of its large metal chassis and boring a hole straight through to one of its mechanical legs. The leg flashes and twists wildly, severed but still moving, like the tail of a lizard. This injury appears to jolt the Guardian out of its current programming loop, its swiveling head turning as if struck with confusion —
that's when he notices a shock of orange hair in the corner of his eye. ]
What the — Atsumu?! Get down! Get back down, right now!
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And his head clears the wall in time to see the robot take aim and fire at Link, and the deflection that Link manages.
Look, the whole thing is very impressive. He won't pretend it's not impressive, but at the same time-- ]
Are you kiddin' me? That thing is shootin' lasers at you! Stop messin' around with it, and lets get the hell outta here!
[ He's not planning on leaving Link behind to make one slightly wrong move and get his own leg blasted clean off! ]
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[ Link answers hurriedly, his voice rising with a mix of urgency, defensiveness and frustration. If he had a moment to think about the situation, he'd recognize just how insane it probably seems to Atsumu, for Link to be staring down something as terrifying as a Guardian — but right now, Atsumu is just kinda... messing with his flow. ]
Get back down! How are you even doing that?
[ Which is when the beeping begins again, slowly beginning to ramp up to faster and higher beeps... but the sight of the laser is aimed directly where Atsumu peeked his head up over the wall. Directly at Atsumu's forehead.
Ah, crap. It's noticed him. ]
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... Well, it has some to do with it. Someone who couldn't scale walls or run for long probably would do even worse against a robot, but still, Atsumu is thinking more skills are needed than just that. He's wrong, of course, but he's not aware of that right now.
He is at least aware of the sight locking onto him, and while he'd love to answer Link's question, he's busy cursing loudly as he realizes what is happening, and pumping his legs quickly to get the hell out of the way of that laser.
The bad news is that he's not getting back down, but the good is that he's racing through the air, and making himself one hell of a target to lock onto, considering he isn't just moving forward, back, left and right, but up and down too in a way that seems to spit in the face of gravity. ]
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There's no time to stare, as much as Link really wants to. Clenching his teeth, he jumps down from the top of the wall and sprints towards the Guardian with all the speed he can muster from his short legs. Whatever it is that Atsumu is doing, it's providing the perfect distraction; Link draws his sword and leaps up onto the Guardian's hull just as the laser beam fires with a loud, ear-splitting shriek.
There isn't enough time for him to look over his shoulder to see whether Atsumu managed to dodge or not. Instead, he's grasping the hilt of his sword in both hands and plunging it mercilessly into the glowing sphere set into the robot's rotating head, which acts as both its eye and its firing mechanism. It whirs and jerks upwards, caught off guard, and rises up on its legs to try to buck Link off, but he braces his feet against its outer shell and holds tight to his sword, twisting it, to snap and shatter its internal mechanisms. ]