THE ADVOCATE ORACLE - A RIP VAN WINKLE IN TIME

[beleos]

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.

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.

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?

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.

CODING

Comments

:) hi chaos cutie

[redsoil]

[ Maybe Yuber does look vulnerable, but Set is nowhere near coherent or intellectual enough in this moment to take advantage of it. He's drawn by the scent of lingering familiarity, of someone given to chaos and the spread of it, of a proper fight in the midst of all the straining and competing for more than oneself. All he wants is the satisfaction of bleeding someone and being bled, poisoned as he is by Shimmer and running content and happy without having to think. ( Honestly, the timing could have been better, but he is a god of war — not of "winning". He wants to win, but losing to a powerful rival is just as wonderful a thought. Besides, he's never been beaten before, not in any way that matters! )

In Crystal Valley, he would stop and marvel at the environment. Perhaps engage Yuber in a conversation about this place that seems familiar to him, that draws his attention in so thoroughly — but, Set hasn't the mind for it. Driven on drug and adrenaline, he prowls into the next arena with a beatific, gentle expression on his face. Despite the burning poison-violet swimming in his body ( setting the ends of his limbs red hair aglow with fire, his chest radiating the murderous heat of the sun and eyes swimming as though burned-black ), he doesn't seem to be pained by the ugliness of Shimmer. If anything, he looks far more content than ever. Relaxed.

Brain on vacation, only fight now. <3

It's why it takes him only a moment to tip his head, curious as an animal, at Yuber's presence. To sniff the air and drag a tongue across the sharp jut of his incisors, and curl black claws up into the air as if seeking to embed them in the man's belly — before he dips his shoulders, aligns his spine into a sharp line, and dives in. The bunching of his thigh muscles drives energy into the ground below him, crunching it into a small crater before he's involved in closing the distance. In achieving his current desire: getting his claws hooked into the lovely red of Yuber's one eye. The one that looks so much like his own! ]

[eightfoldfiend]

[Yuber feels Set's approach before he sees it; a presence as hungry and chaotic as his own closing on him.

It's only at the last moment that he turns from his crouched position and teleports in a swirl of shadow to a position just ten feet down the street behind Set.]

And you must be Set, I presume! I've been eager to meet you but your timing is...unfortunate. Do you not feel the Circle Rune!?

[He hooks a finger in the direction of the Temple.]

That foul entity rules over Order. Even now it drains our colors!

[redsoil]

[ A rush of red carries past the shadows that draw Yuber aside, away from the slice of Set's dark claws and hungry mouth — he alights on the ground, and immediately turns to put the other in his sights again. The twitch of limb and urgency of desire making him, not sloppy, but faster and less playful in his assault. Where he would taunt and chide an opponent, with a tongue as deadly as his weapon, he cannot right now; his mind is a honed thing, too fast for his body, begging to hurt and be hurt.

What Yuber gets from the god on bath salts ( Shimmer............ ) is the sweetest little hum that rises from his throat, like an animal trying to soothe a yammering youngling. Whatever Yuber's saying, it's too much for him to wrap his mind around, but with his most basic instincts, it's either the defensive shriek of something he's about to corner, or the frantic call of something in need of protecting. And that is the essence and schism of the war god, both violent offender and doting father.

He dips himself low, and collapses his form into a heap of sand — some grains wafting through the air on a soft breeze even as the bulk of it begins to slither along the ground towards his ankles. Trying to wrap a tentacle-like manifestation of one around the guy's ankle and gain purchase again, this time... with less violence in mind. An urgent need to attach himself powerfully to someone like him, even as the sting of Order pummels at the side of his mind. Briefly, his body rises from the roll of the small sand dunes and teeth are drawn, feral and hissing at the feeling of the Rune that Yuber is speaking of.

He doesn't hate it, he just feels the incredible need to rip it apart. ]

[eightfoldfiend]

[Yuber sees the tendril of sand reach for his ankle and steps backward. Amos's words ring through his mind.

He can turn himself into sand; he can dodge every physical attack you can throw at him if he wants.

When Set's form rises from the small dune and bares teeth something inside Yuber coils, baring its own teeth in return. The True Rune wrapped eight times around his heart seems to squeeze, urging him to fight. Is he imagining it? He's not sure, but the hunger lances through him anyway like a mental reflex.]

Tsk!

[He bends forward slightly, shadows gather and swirl around his lanky form and harden into a black suit of spiked armor.]

Come, then!

Here beneath the gaze of Order, show me you are worthy of being the god of war and chaos!

[redsoil]

[ The blond man is still talking, and the things he's saying are incomprehensible to Set right now; his body is rich with Shimmer, urging him to crush and tear the world apart with his elevated strength. A god on such a drug is a dangerous, impossible combination that Silco should have known better than to create — and yet, were they not arbiters of the anti-order? One word sticks out to Set, that of god, and he opens his mouth to shrill back a wild cry: the sun-bright shriek of a hunting hawk, the rolling bay of a hound that's spotted what it is to chase, the chilling hiss of a crocodile rising from the bank in a single burst of motion to sink its teeth into something that's drawn too near the water's edge.

Without thinking, he rolls forward into sands again; a tidal wave of power heightened by Shimmer's presence in his system, looking all at once to smother Yuber's body and embrace him in the same moment. He doesn't summon weapons or look for the best advantage, reduced to sheer power and speed as he draws the wave of sand high overhead and aims to crash it all down upon the other. ( Briefly, a little burst of Communion alights between them: the sheer satisfaction and joy in finding someone ready and raring to risk it all in combat. ) ]

[eightfoldfiend]

[Yuber vanishes again in a swirl of black and rematerializes on the roof of a nearby building (A scribe's shop, he realizes by the sign. Fitting, he thinks. Set looks like he could come from the same country most scribes seem to.)

He watches with a delighted grin as the wave of sand crushes market stalls and sends people scattering down side alleys. How lovely it would be for the battle between arbiters of chaos to raze the likes of Crystal Valley.

Over Communion another spark flares from Yuber: Kind recognizing kind.]

Don't mind their screams. Crystal Valley deserves to be destroyed.

[He calls out but suspects his words are lost on Set. The other man doesn't seem to be hearing him, or, more likely, is not in any state to understand him. Yuber has never seen anyone fight after taking Raging Nostrum but he's heard the stories that circulated the people of Falena and its neighboring countries. It must look like this.

He snorts and lifts his hand outward. Heat gathers in his palm and flares into a fireball, which he tosses into the sand. He doesn't know whether his magic can melt the sands of a god, but he's eager to find out.]