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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.
no subject
[What isn't easy is knowing which ones will be a risk to this world. Jade still isn't entirely sure what results occur when those Shards are destroyed, but knowing what had happened in her own world when she had taken the Black Stone from Rynéus the first time...
[It's not a decision she's going to take lightly. Not again.]
Here.
[She hands the bottle over to the stranger. Predictably it's a sweet smell, about what one would expect from something literally made from bananas and sugar, and brewed into a syrupy liquor. Definitely something that has been concocted in someone's personal kitchen, as opposed to a proper distillery. But it does its job.
[The taste itself isn't much different from the smell. Asides from the alcoholic sting to the back of the throat, there is an overly sugary flavor that makes it hard to imagine anyone guzzling the shit. Almost like something a child would imagine up.]
Not like it's real, anyways. [Jade shrugs, still maintaining a fake slur in her speech.] None of this is.
no subject
They’ve got sun, sand, and some apparently shitty booze. Seize the moment, and all that.
Chloe takes the bottle and gives the contents an experimental sniff—and her brows furrow.]
Wow, you weren’t kidding about the banana, huh?
[Pretty distinctive smell right there, but it’s not like it’s going to dissuade her here. She brings the bottle to her lips and takes a swig. Christ, it’s sweet, but it at least does have a bit of a burn to it. Not that it makes her all that eager to take another drink. She wedges the bottle into the sand between to two of them, where it lists to the side slightly but manages to remain upright.]
It might all be fake as hell, but we’re still stuck dealing with it. At least this place isn’t as bad as some of the others we got stuck in.
no subject
Yeah. People'll make booze outta just about anything, it seems.
[It could be worse. At least it's not made from piss.
[Even so, Jade opts to leave the bottle between them, and just stares out at the golden sunset cresting the Red Sea, trying not to think about her responsibilities for two bloody seconds. For a moment, her expression seems almost serene, remembering how it felt like when she was here the first time. This little oasis in the middle of a hellish planet, torn apart by war with the end of the world looming over their heads.]
Yeah. Guess that's the crux of it all, huh? It's a nice dream. [One that she'll have to wake up from sooner than later, she knows. Much like how she knows what lies beneath the shiny surface and pleasant greetings from the villagers. Even if she can't see it now, the memory of the truth is forever burned into her mind.] I take it you got the headache when you first arrived, too? Kinda hard to ignore a red flag like that.
no subject
Maybe that’s why she’s been so ill at ease ever since this world-hopping started. It’s certainly why she’d chafed against the Oracle’s probing questions when this all began; life had let her down too many times already. Why would she let it taunt her with old memories when there was no point to it all?
She sighs and sits back, hands digging slightly into the sand as she props herself up in a casual lean.]
Yeah, the headache… that had been weird. [Frankly, she’d mostly dismissed it once it had passed. Chalked it up to a weird effect of all this… dreamy traveling they’ve been doing. But if she’s not the only one who felt that kind of thing when showing up in this world…] You think it means something? ‘Cause I’m gonna be real, I didn’t think much of it at the time.
no subject
[But this is just one Eventuality, she knows. In her own Eventuality, Silvergrove is already gone. Well, technically, it was gone long before she ever even stepped foot in the village... But does it matter? Maybe in another world, another life, the Prophetess stays, chooses the dream over her responsibilities. It's what she always wanted to do, anyways. The weight of the world's fate was never something she felt should fall to someone as pathetic as her.
[After a long pause, she sighs, pressing her knees to her chest, looking over at the seagulls pecking around the fishing nets set up at the beach.]
I think it means that the power over this place doesn't affect us. [Jade finally answers solemnly, dropping the slurred speech and drunken demeanor. No point in playing stupid games when her tēmī's life in this Eventuality is on the line.] I didn't think much of it the first time I came here, either. I mean, traveling that bloody jungle for days, what else can you expect?
[She frowns, her fingers drumming over her knees.] Now I know it wasn't just a normal headache.
["But whenever I look at you, it's like... like a part of you isn't really there." That's what the "Boy" had told her back then, when he had begged her to stay in Silvergrove with him. And if the Shard-Bearers are all dreamers as well, is that still not the case?]
no subject
As they’ve all gone from world to world she had wondered, not for any real reason because she mostly didn’t think that it mattered much, just which Shard-bearer was behind the appearance of each new place. Some places were obvious, others not so much. And the fact that she still didn’t know most of them well didn’t really help her in puzzling it out any. Seems like the mystery of this world isn’t so much of a mystery anymore, though.]
Guess that means this place is yours, then. [More a statement than a question, her attention still fully locked onto the other woman.] What was so special about a headache back then? Why would it be any different now?
[She doesn’t really get how all of this works still. Some of the worlds had some pretty obvious effects on them, so maybe it feels like it’s not a waste of time getting to know more about a place. Particularly when it comes to a topic that’s got the one who knows it best looking a lot more serious.]
no subject
[Ironic, really. She didn't ask to be representative for the people of her home, much like how she didn't ask to be the Prophetess. All she can hope for is a brief moment of reprieve and some understanding that she isn't just another drunk or lowlife with delusions of grandeur.
[Despite this, she idly picks up the brandy, drinks, then makes a "why did I just do that? face at the bottle. It's still just as sickly sweet as the last time she drank.]
Well, you might've noticed there's something off about the people here. Or maybe you didn't, since it's not like you're from this world... [Shrug.] But anyways, they're dead.
[She says it so plainly, like she just dropped a casual fact. Surprise!]
no subject
The thing is—everything has been fucking weird ever since she landed in Kenos. People could be bullshitting her or they could be perfectly honest and she’d have no metrics to really measure it against when it comes to the really weird stuff. Everything that’s been happening ever since the Oracle has whisked them away to dreamland? It practically all falls in that category, so she’s gotta be willing to at least take some of what people tell her at face value. At least if they seem to know more of what they’re talking about than she does.
All of that to say: no, Chloe sure as hell did not notice anything off about the people. Well, outside of the fact that they’re way too friendly for her taste. Probably why she steered clear enough of them to remain so blissfully ignorant of it.
A beat, and then she’s glancing back over her shoulder for a brief moment, back toward the village.]
Like… ghosts or some shit? Because they could’ve fooled me.
no subject
No. They're more like... puppets. Empty bodies without wills of their own. [She glances down at the brandy bottle.] Here it's peaceful -- everyone is nice and accepting, no one ever goes hungry or thirsty. But it's just a veil. None of it's real. And I don't just mean the dream part. It's been like this for years.
[Jade nods at the glittering sea.]
Out there, the world is a lot less picturesque. I've seen armies cutting down villages on the mere suspicion that they might be supplying their enemies, people burning alive on crosses, corpses hanging from trees like rotting fruit. All in the name of power or some dead gods that never gave a shit about any of them.
[Really not doing a good job at selling her world as being one of worth here. Bear with her here.]
no subject
So… what, are these zombie puppets out here trying to shelter everyone from the evils of the world or something? Whether they want it or not?
[There’s a flippant edge to her tone that speaks enough for how much disdain she has for the prospect of it. Fake happiness is all too easy to shatter.]
Fucked up. Because all of that, [she motions with one hand toward the sea Jade had nodded toward,] won’t stay away forever.
no subject
[Jade glances down at the bottle, her expression somber for a moment, before she reaches into the pouch of her jacket to pull out a pipe.
[At least while she's here, she might as well enjoy the Peaceweed that she's accustomed to.]
Seven or so winters ago, a boy was born with horrible disfigurements. The bumps and boils all over his body were excruciating, but he survived. However, people still called him a monster; they hated him just for existing. Even his own father discarded the boy, more like an unwanted dog than a human being. His mother left him with a gem, and gave him away to a widower from a poor village, who kindly took him in.
But the world was not kind -- it never is. Even though the widower accepted the boy, the rest of the world did not, and the villagers believed the boy to be demonic. Eventually, they stormed their house and murdered the widower in his own home, and tried to kill the frightened boy as well. L
But then his mother's gem spoke to him. It asked him what he wished for, and the boy wished to be loved. For people to like him. And so that gem created this place -- the Silvergrove as we see it now.
[As she speaks, she's stuffing the pipe with the familiar green petals, as though it were a cyclic ritual she could do in her sleep. When she finishes, she pulls out a firetwig, lights the bowl, and breathes it in.]
So, ultimately... This illusion isn't a shield from the world. It's his own personal hell that no one who comes here could ever escape from.
[Until a Prophetess came along and ended the illusion, but that's a different story. She ended it before, and she knows she'll have to see to its end again. But maybe she can make it a little more right this time.]
no subject
She sighs and closes her eyes for a moment.]
So the place is kind of a downer after all.
[You know, like they’d said—too good to be true, something this nice. It almost kind of sucks to hear, because though Chloe hates being wrong… well, being wrong about something nice wouldn’t be so bad.]
This isn’t your first rodeo with the kid. [Not so much a question, but her landing on the conclusion out loud.] I’m guessing this little paradise-slash-hell of his can’t last forever?
happy 420, lol (it's still 4/20 here at least)
Yeah, it kinda is. Sorry to burst the bubble.
[As if it wasn't obvious there was something underneath it all. Though Chloe didn't seem like she was looking too deeply into it at first, Jade had seen others reacting differently to this place. Like they could sense something was "wrong" here, and they weren't necessarily incorrect to question that wrongness.
[But even so. She wouldn't let them hurt Rynéus -- not if she can help it while she's still here.]
No, it's not -- and it won't.
[She inhales more smoke from the pipe and glances over to the young woman. After a moment, she tilts the pipe, lifting a brow.]
Even if it's fake, the Peaceweed feels real enough... if you're into that kinda thing. Always helps when I need to relax and forget about shit for a while.
[Plus the other useful effects it has in maintaining her Fever -- but there's always been that, too.]